


The Beautiful Game

by lady_flash



Series: Rainbow Laces Universe [1]
Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Football, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad sports writing, But angst is always looming, Closeted Character, Domestic Fluff, Henry "Monty" Montague is a Mess, Homophobia, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Multi, Non-Explicit Sex, Percy is a Dork, Recreational Drug Use, SOCCER AU!!, a lot of bad language sorry, baby's first AU, boys flirting, closeted football gays, it is known, like footballers wives but with closeted footballers basically, monty the striker, percy the centre back, sassy Sim is the best part of this fic, sport stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28451208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_flash/pseuds/lady_flash
Summary: Percy Newton is the new centre back for legendary Premier League team Wratham United. Henry "Monty" Montague is their incredibly famous (and infamous) star striker. They meet. They connect. Secrets start to come out.(Aka my first ever au is about soccer/football and I'm not even into soccer/football. Enjoy the drama!)
Relationships: Henry "Monty" Montague/Percy Newton
Series: Rainbow Laces Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136033
Comments: 102
Kudos: 30





	1. Change of Plans

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to [future_fae_king](https://archiveofourown.org/users/future_fae_king/pseuds/future_fae_king) for being my beta/person to bounce ideas off because they actually know their football!
> 
> Content warnings for chapter 1: References to recreational drug use, references to sex, fair amount of swearing, probably too much British slang.

**PERCY**

The first day at a new job is always nerve-wracking. Add to that the fact that millions, literally _millions_ , of pounds has changed hands to get me here… and it’s definitely enough to justify the spare pair of boxers I packed in my bag “just in case”.

Walking on to Wratham United’s ground is exactly as I was expecting it to be. Incredibly fucking intimidating. Even though I’ve been here before, (I played Wratham’s under 18 squad when I was with Cherley’s, but those matches were a blur of excitement and sneaky cans of Stella), I never paid attention to the grandeur of the place. 

It reeks of history and it’s not surprising - Wratham holds the record for the most top-division titles and were the first team to ever win the Premier League. The team is legendary.

And I’ve just signed for them.

I stop at the doors, nodding at security and taking a long look around me again, before hitching my bag up on my shoulder and stepping inside. I walk down the long corridor, decorated with team photos and framed shirts signed by Wratham United legends, until I reach the home locker room. It’s currently empty, the team has already started training, so I look around until I find a locker that has been left open for me.

I look inside and spot something that, _cringe_ , sends a chill up my spine. My new kit. A home kit in pink and white, and an away kit in two shades of grey. I pick up a shirt and turn it to the back.

 **_NEWTON  
_ ** **_05_ **

It suddenly all feels a bit too real. There’s no way this is actually happening. Me. Percy Newton. Wratham United centre back. _Shit._

Just as I’m starting to feel myself sinking into a full existential crisis I hear a door slam open. I jump and put the shirt back, feeling weirdly embarrassed, then look up as someone staggers into the locker room, still wearing sunglasses. (It’s October).

It’s Henry Montague. Actual Henry Montague.

“Fuck!” He spots me and stops in his tracks, dramatically clapping a hand to his chest. “I didn’t think there would be anyone in here.”

“... Sorry.” Before I can even help myself, I realise I’m staring. 

Henry, or Monty as he always insists people call him (it’s even what’s written on the back of his shirt), is Wratham’s star striker. Scrap that, he’s the league’s star striker. One of the top five in the world, in fact. He’s also one of the rare footballers who manages to level-up past ‘successful sports star’ and become ‘ _actual celebrity’_. I walked past two billboards of him on the way here; One for Nike and one for Under Armour. Both of which scored him seven-figure sums, if the blogs I read are accurate.

He’s also really fucking hot. Despite looking like he hasn’t had a good sleep in about three weeks, he has that dishevelled casual sex appeal that says “yes, I really have fucked every single supermodel the press has linked me with”. His unkempt dark blonde hair would look in desperate need of a cut on anyone else, but on Monty, it somehow looks like a fashion statement.

He’s pretty short too, at least six inches shorter than I am, but somehow on famous and hot people, it doesn’t seem to matter. His… _presence_ more than makes up for it.

Shit. I’m still staring. “I’m new.” I try not to look too starstruck, deciding to feign confidence instead. I walk over and hold out my hand. “Percy Newton.”

“New?” He looks down at my hand, still not taking off his glasses, but he doesn’t shake it. I’m not sure if he’s being rude or just cautious. I take my hand away awkwardly. “I didn’t know we had anyone new.”

“Oh. Well, it’s sort of… I mean it was all over the sports pages for a few we—”

He laughs. “I don’t read the sports pages, fucking hell.” He walks past me, nudging my shoulder slightly. I guess that’s a greeting he’s more comfortable with. “Can’t think of anything more boring, Perce. Alright if I call you Perce?”

“Uh… well not re—” 

He interrupts. I can’t seem to finish a sentence without him interrupting me.

“How late am I, Perce? I know I’m late but am I ‘slap on the wrist’ late, or ‘might not even bother and just go back to bed’ late?” I blink at him. “What?”

“Can’t you just… check the time on your phone?” It’s his turn to blink at me. I roll my eyes slightly and get my own phone out of my pocket. “It’s ten past 8. They’ve only just started.”

“Was that so hard?” I narrow my eyes and he softens slightly. “I think I left my phone somewhere, alright? I’ve already lost all three of the backup ones my agent got me so… you’re my watch for today.”

He goes to his locker and seems to run out of energy before he can even lift his hand to unlock it, instead he rests his head against it with a solid thud and groans.

“Fuck it. I might just go.” He looks up at me, finally taking off his shades. He shoves some of his hair out of his (annoyingly blue) eyes and grimaces slightly. “Cover for me, Percy Newton?”

I frown at him. “You’re going to… skip training?”

“Oh god. You’re one of those.” He sighs, running his hand through his hair, further enhancing that tousled ‘just been shagged’ look he’s known for. “No one will miss me during _one_ training session. No need to guilt-trip me about it.”

I have a feeling this isn’t the first session he’s missed. And I don’t really fancy my first introduction to the team being me bluffing my way through some excuses for their very hungover star player. I decide to appeal to something I’ve read a lot about; his ego.

“I’m not guilt-tripping, I just…” I scratch my head, shrugging. “I was looking forward to watching you play. You’re one of the main reasons I decided to sign.”

He stares at me, raising an eyebrow. I can’t tell if he’s bought it, but he seems to be carefully assessing me. He tilts his head and motions to my nose.

“Are they letting you keep that in?” My hand goes to the septum piercing in my nose and I frown. “I got a nipple pierced once but they made me take it out. Said it was ‘dangerous’ or something.”

I smirk. “No. I doubt they’re letting me keep it. Just thought I’d see how long I could get away with it.”

“Hmm.” He scans my face over for a second, and I suddenly feel extremely on display. After a couple more seconds, he seems to come to some sort of decision. “Okay, I’ll stay. If! You come and get a coffee with me after.”

“Oh… I was actually going to meet with my friend, she said she was going to buy m—”

“She’ll understand! I always take out the newbies for a coffee. It’s a tradition.” He grins at me and I suddenly feel even more starstruck than I did when he first walked in. “Deal?”

“Fuck it... “ I hold out my hand again and he shakes it this time. “Deal.”

  
  


\-------------------------

  
  


We change out, and I try my absolute best not to watch Monty undress. However, I can’t stop myself from stealing a glimpse in a conveniently placed mirror as he pulls off his shirt and notice what appears to be a dark red lipstick mark near his right hip. Classy.

Once we’re dressed, we head out onto the pitch together, interrupting a hardcore-looking drill which from the looks of it, I was lucky to be missing. Monty ignores a scathing look and comment from Duke Bourbon, our manager, and grabs a ball, doing a dramatic stretch and yawn as he joins his teammates. One of which throws a ball at his head with impressive accuracy. He grins and flips them off.

Duke takes a deep breath and smacks me on the back, just slightly too aggressively. I flinch as he makes my introduction. “Alright, lads! Our new recruit is here, I’m sure some of you have already played against Percy. He’s the best new centre back in the league and now he’s ours. So don’t scare him off.”

The rest of the team mumble in greeting, and before I can say hello, Duke shoves me in the direction of the equipment, hissing under his breath. “You’re late. Catch up. And next time, lose the nose ring. You look like a fucking bull. Unless you want your nose getting ripped off mid-game, that is.”

Feeling like a naughty school child, I pick up a ball and look for a space to join the drill. I glance over at Monty, who’s watching me and looking vaguely amused.

Duke orders us to do 30 keepie-uppies (and to start from the beginning if we drop one). I manage fairly easily, as do most of my teammates, but Montague is struggling. His smugness has worn off very quickly, replaced by the realisation he has to do three hours of intense football practice with a stinking hangover. He lets the ball drop about once every three kicks, then winces every time he has to bend down and collect it.

This carries on for a good ten minutes before Duke reaches the end of his patience and storms over to him. I don’t hear the argument, but it’s clear Monty doesn’t win, as it ends in him kicking his ball halfway across the pitch (my first actual in-person glimpse of his allegedly world-leading skill) and then stomping off back to the tunnel like a moody teenager. I stifle a laugh.

The rest of training goes pretty well, and by the end, I’m sweating buckets but feeling reasonably confident. The rest of the lads seem nice, and some of them even know some of my stats, which took me by surprise. I still feel like an amateur and a charlatan, even after a year and a half in the premier league. One of them, who introduces himself as Eric, walks with me back through the tunnel when we finally finish.

“So, what made you late? Monty?”

I frown. “My taxi got stuck in traffic. Why would he make me late?”

“He likes to drag people down with him. About once a week he does this. I’m up for a party like anyone else but on a _Wednesday night_? Out at some bar until three then up shagging birds until six. Then thinks he’ll be alright for training after a couple of lines. Didn’t seem to bother with that today though, by the looks of it.” He sighs, but there seems to be some semblance of affection behind it. “He’s going to be burned out by the time he’s 26.”

Christ. “I didn’t realise it was that bad… how is he still so—”

“Good? Annoying, isn’t it?” He shrugs as we reach the locker room, kicking off his boots. “He can’t keep it up forever, though.”

“Well, not _forever_. But I do have pretty good stamina.” We both turn around with a start. Monty is sat on one of the benches in the corner, back in the clothes he arrived in and scrolling through a phone. He lifts it up to show me. “Found one in my locker! You ready to go?”

My eyebrows shoot up. “You… waited around for me? I just assumed you’d gone back home to bed.”

“I said it was tradition! The gaffer being a prick isn’t going to mess with tradition. Tell him, Eric.” Eric just gives me a look. Monty gives me his most charming grin. “I’ll buy you a pain au raisin.”

I pause. “I do like a pain au raisin.” He grins even harder. “Can I at least have a shower first?”

“Alright. But make it quick. I’ve waited around long enough.” 

“No one asked you t—” He jumps up, interrupting me (what a shocker) and slapping me on the back.

“Chop chop! You stink.” He walks past me. “I’ll be in the car park! Mine’s the Porsche.”

Of course it’s the Porsche. This man is becoming more of a walking cliché with every passing moment. He leaves and I look at Eric, who is giving me a slightly pitying look.

“With any luck, he’ll find you boring and never speak to you again,” he says.

“Fingers crossed,” I reply, grabbing a towel and heading to the showers.

  
  
  


\-------------------------

  
  
  


**_Me_ ** : _change of plans, simmo. someone from the team is taking me for coffee, apparently it’s a thing x_

 **_Sim:_ ** _you fucker. which someone?? x_

 **_Me:_ ** _…. montague x_

 **_Sim:_ ** _SHUT UP?? call me the MOMENT you’re done omg x_

I roll my eyes slightly and lock my phone as Monty’s Porsche pulls up to a quaint looking cafe a mile or so from the stadium. He parks on a double yellow line (I guess he can afford the fines) and hops out. I take a deep breath and get out after him.

We didn’t talk much on the drive. He put on Radio 1 full blast and sang along to every song that came on. I can’t help but notice he seems a bit more... chipper than he did at training. I decide not to mention it.

The cafe is pastel-coloured and verging on crowded, but the staff greet Monty and lead us to a quiet booth in a corner where we’re out of view of the other customers (we still have to walk past a few though, and I spot a couple of phones popping up to take very un-subtle photos).

He drops down into a seat and I sit opposite as he orders for us. “Two flat whites and a huge fuck-off pile of pain au raisins please, Celia.”

I smile at her, looking apologetic, but she doesn’t seem concerned. “Thank you.”

She picks up our menus and walks away. Monty leans back, grinning at me.

“Soooo…” He takes his phone out of his pocket when it buzzes, scowls at what he sees, then puts it straight back again. “First impressions, Percy Newton?” 

“Of… the team? The cafe? You?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Team seems really good. Friendly lads. Cafe seems nice. Nice decor.”

He leans forwards, smirking. “And me? You were excited to meet me, remember?”

“I was excited to _see you play_. I didn’t see much of that today.” He curls his lip slightly. “But… you’re pretty much what I expected, I suppose.”

“Oh!” He leans back again. “Interesting. What were you expecting?”

I think I should probably tread a bit carefully here. Seeing as it’s still my first day.

“I dunno, you’re just kind of… very… Monty.”

He stares at me for a couple of seconds, then shrugs. “True. So tell me about you! I don’t read any sports shit. I know nothing about you.”

“How can you ‘not read any sports shit’? You’re one of the best footballers on the planet.” He grins at that and I roll my eyes. “Do you just avoid it, or…?”

He shrugs. “I just… don’t really like football. My dad likes football. He insisted I play. Turns out I’m quite good at it. And it comes with a few perks, so…”

“Yeah, just a few.” I look up as the waitress brings us our coffee and pastries. Monty smoothly hands her a fifty pound note with a smile and she visibly blushes before walking away again. “I wish I could be accidentally good at something. I try embarrassingly hard.”

He laughs slightly. “If it helps, you seem pretty effortless.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You’ve only seen me do about ten keepie-uppies, how would you know?”

“Touché. I suppose you just have that… vibe.” He eats a mouthful of pastry and continues talking with his mouth full. “You still haven’t told me anything about you.”

I hate talking about myself more than anything in the world. It always ends up sounding like some cringey ‘X Factor’ sob story. Orphaned at age five, spent the rest of my childhood in a series of foster homes, took off as soon as I was old enough and ended up living in a South London squat with six other teenagers, playing football with the local youth club until I was discovered and signed to the under-18s. 

Also I’m gay. So very, very gay.

And no one knows except my best friend, Sim. She’s Muslim and also gay as hell (thrown out by her deeply religious family as a result, which is how we met), and she also loves football. We’ve been soulmates since the age of sixteen and we talk on the phone at least twice a day.

I don’t say any of this. Instead, I say; “I’m pretty boring, really. I used my transfer fee to put a deposit down on a pretty sensible apartment. I like to read. I have a cat.”

“Okay, okay, you’ve successfully lost my interest. Which I’m sure was your plan.” He sips his coffee, watching me. “I don’t believe it though. You seem interesting. And I’m a good judge of character.”

His phone buzzes again and he huffs, grabbing it out of his pocket again. This time he answers it, although only to snap “I’m busy!” and immediately hang up. I raise my eyebrows at him and he sighs.

“My sister. Also my publicist. And general pain in my arse.” He puts it back in his pocket. “Although she’d argue I’m the one who makes her life a misery.”

I can imagine. “I’ve never even thought about having a publicist…”

“It’s necessary for someone like me. She keeps my secrets, ya know.” He says this casually, but to me that sounds like a very intense statement.

“Secrets? Surely everyone knows you like a party. Isn’t that kind of… your thing?”

“Is it? Well, that’s depressing.” He hesitates for a moment, quickly glancing around and lowering his voice. “Some secrets they don’t really like in this industry. Like the fact I’m even better at giving blow jobs than I am at scoring goals.”

I was halfway through a sip of coffee when he says this. Somewhat dramatically, I start to choke. Did he just… did Henry Montague just _come out_ to me?

“I thought you were... “ I try to recover, still coughing. “The… womanising thing?”

“Oh I’m good at that too.” I must look confused because he rolls his eyes slightly. “I’m bisexual, Perce. Heard of it? It’s probably mostly down to my sister that you only ever hear about the ‘womanising’. She’s actually a pretty good publicist, despite being an annoying twat.”

I consider asking him why. Why he feels the need to hide this side of himself. But this is football. And I’m not a fucking idiot.

“You didn’t need to… tell me that. We only met a few hours ago. I could be…”

“An undercover journalist or something? I doubt it. Unless you’ve made up an entire football career just to try and find out where I like putting my dick. In which case, you _deserve_ the scoop.” He fiddles with one of the pain au raisins. “I dunno… you seem trustworthy I suppose. Like you wouldn’t have a problem with it.”

“Do I?” He gives me a look and I swallow slightly. “Well… I mean yeah. I don’t. I don’t care where you… put your dick.” He laughs. “What??”

“Dunno. Was just amazing to hear that come out of your mouth.” His phone starts buzzing again and he growls. “Okay I think I might actually need to go see my sister. She’s only this desperate when I’ve managed to _really_ fuck up. Here. Gimme your phone.”

I hesitate but take my phone out of my own pocket, unlocking it and handing it to him. He starts typing in his number and my eyes widen slightly, but I try to restore my face back to cool and casual before he looks up at me and hands it back.

“Text me if you ever want to actually tell me anything interesting about yourself, won’t you?” He stands up and leaves two more fifties on the table.

“Monty, I don’t think this came to a hundred quid…”

“Don’t be a tight-arse, Newton. You’re rich now, may as well act like it.“ I frown at this but he doesn’t notice.

“See you in the morning.”

He winks at me and pulls the hood of his jacket over his head to try and shield his face on the way out. I stare after him for a second, before realising he was my mode of transport.

“Shit.” I pick up my phone, about to text Sim and ask for a lift, when I suddenly think of something. I go into my contacts and scroll down to where Monty has added his details (he’s followed it with a couple of kissy emojis and an aubergine, I expected nothing less) and I open up the contact page and screenshot it.

 **_Me:_ ** _[image_3452.png]_

 **_Sim:_ ** _WHAT THE FUUUUUUCKK???_

 **_Me:_ ** _i’ve dropped u a location, come get me and i’ll tell you everything xx_

Well. Not quite everything.


	2. I'm Always Sensible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry "Monty" Montague loves his life. No, honestly. It's not a mess at all.
> 
> (Or, an insight into the life of a disaster footballer bisexual).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footballer Monty is CHAOTIC okay. Thank you again Milo for beta-ing!
> 
> Content warnings for this chapter: Sex and drug references, bad language, sex, a tiny bit of Richard Peele.
> 
> ENJOY!!

**MONTY  
**

**_Unknown number:_ ** _ok so here’s an interesting fact about me… my cat is called yardstick_

 **_Me:_ ** _… who is this_

 **_Unknown number:_ ** _….. :-/_

 **_Me:_ ** _JUST KIDDING hi percy newton. that is a truly weird name for a cat xx  
_ _  
_

He actually took longer to text me than I expected. Almost an entire hour. I smirk as I add Percy’s name to my phone’s contacts, being sure to add in some appropriate emojis after his name; chefs kiss, hearts in eyes emoji, water drops, peach, pink love heart with a yellow ribbo—

“Are you even listening to me, Monty?” Felicity snaps at me and I look up, quickly stowing my phone back in my pocket.

“Yes! Just… catching up on my correspondence!” She glares at me. I’ve known my sister for 23 years and her glare can still strike a bolt of fear into my heart. “I really am sorry, Feli.”

“How do you even manage to _find_ a Tory MP at a gay bar?” 

For once, I’m as disgusted with myself as she is with me. “Well, I didn’t know he was a Tory MP! He looked so normal! There’s no way I would have let him put—”

“I don’t know how many times I need to tell you this, Monty… but I really don’t want the sordid details.” She sighs, sits back, and opens her laptop. “Even if you weren’t my brother, it’s better for both of us if I have plausible deniability.”

“Plausible deniability? It’s a regretful fuck, Felicity. I haven’t murdered anyone.”

“Does it count as murder if you give me a stress-induced heart attack? If so, you’re pretty close.” She takes a deep breath. “We’re extremely lucky, you know. That he even gave that phone back at all. Whether he’s taken anything off it for collateral is another story…”

“Oh, there’s nothing on that phone. That’s the newest phone.” She glares at me again and I flinch. “Not that there’s… anything on the other phones. Because I promised. And I am a man of my word.”

She stares straight through me as if she’s imagining every career path she could have chosen instead of this one. I see this look a lot. Two years ago when she told me she was considering getting into PR, I offered to be her first client. She accepted, and I’m pretty sure she’s regretted her decision every day since. (But I pay her a bloody fortune, so my sympathy is limited). 

I grimace at her, trying my best to look as sheepish as possible. “Do you think he’ll tell?”

“Of course he won’t tell. He won’t want this to come out any more than you do. The issue is whether anyone saw you.” She huffs and types something on her laptop. “I’m not seeing anything on Twitter. That’s a good sign.”

“So he gave the phone back and there’s nothing on Twitter. What’s the big emergency, exactly?”

“Monty, I just…” She growls and sits back in her seat. “I just want you to take this seriously! You told me you didn’t want anyone finding out about your sexuality and yet…” She motions to me, exasperated. “ _This_. Every single week.”

“Well, you have to _earn_ your money, darling.” She picks up a heavy-looking stapler and throws it at me. Thankfully, I have the reflexes to duck out of the way. “Felicity!”

“ _Stop_ calling me _‘darling’_ ! It makes you sound like an absolute _prick_!”

“Okay! Jesus! I’m sorry!” She takes a deep breath and so do I. “Let’s just… take things down a notch. Is this Tory thing an issue? Do we need to panic?”

“I think… I think you may have gotten away with it.” Phew. He really wasn’t a good enough lay for it to cause any drama. I must look too relieved for her tastes, so she points a very stern finger at me. “But _only just_. So for the love of God, Monty. Be careful. Please?”

I sigh. “Fine. God. This would be so easy for you, this being famous shit. You wouldn’t have to worry about shagging any Tories. You don’t want to shag anyone.”

She rolls her eyes. “Because that’s what being famous is all about, isn’t it? Who you get to shag.”

“No! There’s also the drugs.” She picks up a hole punch this time and I laugh. “I’m kidding! Please put the stationery down. And tell me about…” I point to a printed-out email she put on the desk before I arrived. “...Whatever that is.”

“Oh. Burberry. They’re wondering if you want to do the campaign again.” I pull a face. “Really? You’re doing a face at Burberry?”

“They made me look so… smarmy in those photos.” She scoffs loudly and I narrow my eyes at her. “How much are they offering this time?”

“£50k.” I tilt my head. “It’s a one day shoot, Monty. You’re doing it.”

“Fine. I’ll do it. I want a new car.”

She nods and goes back to her laptop, presumably typing up my acceptance. I use the opportunity to get my phone back out of my pocket and I grin when I see Percy’s replied. Twice.

**_Percy:_ ** _there’s a story behind it. i just can’t remember what it is_

 **_Percy:_ ** _how is your sister? is she angry about something?_

 **_Me:_ ** _she’s always angry about something. did u enjoy your pain au raisins? Xx_

 **_Percy:_ ** _i’ve had better  
_

I scoff slightly and Felicity looks over at me, then down at my phone with a scowl.

“Who are you texting?”

“Nowhere in your contract does it say I have to tell you every time I text someone.” I frown. “Or does it? That does seem like something you’d add.”

“I’m asking as your sister. You have that look on your face that concerns me.” She leans on the desk, resting her chin on her hands and doing what I assume is meant to be a lovesick impression, but to me looks like she desperately needs a shit. “This one.”

“One.. _never_ do that face again and two… no I fucking don’t. It’s just the new centre back that started this morning.” I put the phone down on the desk, shrugging. “He seems cool enough.”

“The new....” She frowns. “Percy Newton?”

“Yeah, that one.” She sighs. “What?”

“I’ve seen his pictures in the papers, Monty.”

“Good for you.” I stare her down. “Is that relevant in some way?”

“No. Not at all. Just... okay, now I am back in publicist mode… just _try_ and remember our agreement, won’t you?” I continue to stare. “About teammates?”

It finally clicks. “Oh fuck off, Feli. Even I’m not _that_ stupid.” She pauses for a second then suddenly grabs my phone from in front of me before I can stop her. “Hey!”

She looks at the screen, where there’s another message from Percy (he’s a double texter, nice), and gets a look at the emojis next to his name. She raises an eyebrow and holds it up to me as if to make a point. I grab it back.

“I do that for everybody. Look.” I scroll through my phone and hold it up to my contact for my father. _Henri Montague Senior_ followed by a long row of emojis: a knife, an upside-down smiley face, a poop, a gun pointed at a stressed smiley… you get the idea. 

“Not quite the same, Monty.” I roll my eyes and put my phone in my pocket. “Fine. Just… be sensible? Please?”

“I’m always sensible.” She laughs. “For you, I’ll be extra sensible.”

She narrows her eyes and turns back to her laptop. My phone starts to buzz with a phone call and I take it out again to look at the screen. No emojis this time, just _JB_. I try to keep the smirk off my face and look up at my sister.

“Do you need anything else or can I go? I still need to sleep last night off.”

She doesn’t even look at me, just makes a ‘go away’ motion with her hand to dismiss me. I smile and stand up, heading out of her office, only answering my phone when I’m a safe distance away down the hall.

“Bonjour, mon ami.”

  
  
  


\-------------------------

  
  
  


“Bonjour, mon ami” is about the extent of my French knowledge, despite having a French father and a French name. I’ve tried to learn the occasional sexy phrase to amuse Jeanne but every time I try, she slaps me on the back of the head and tells me to “get on with it, you English idiot” in that accent that makes all of the blood rush out of my head,

So I do get on with it. As often as I can get away with. Today, Duke is travelling up North to scout Wratham players for next season, so I’m at her townhouse. We’re on her king size bed and she’s wearing nothing but an extremely expensive negligee as I nestle my head between her thighs.

Jeanne may be the most problematic of my addictions. She’s spectacular looking, obviously. All long ash-blonde hair and supermodel legs, eyelashes so long they brush against me when we kiss. She’s entertaining too. (The first time Jeanne actually said “oui, oui” during sex, I laughed so hard and for so long she got pissed off and shoved me off of the bed.) 

The fact I fucking hate the gaffer and she’s his wife is just a bonus.

I’m still hungover from last night, and definitely far from peak performance, but she doesn’t seem to have noticed. I can’t help but smirk and feel slightly smug when she arches her back, wrapping one of her legs around me and digging her heel into my back when she starts to get close to the edge. 

“Jesus _Christ_ …” She’s being far from quiet, which is fine (more than fine, actually… nothing worse than putting in all of your best efforts only to be met with silence), but then she grabs hold of my hair and twists a fistful of it so hard that it actually hurts. I growl slightly, pissed off, but she seems to enjoy that even more and presses me tightly against her, rocking against my mouth as she starts to come, her other hand gripping her overpriced bedsheets.

She doesn’t loosen her grip until she’s finished and she finally quietens down, her moans turning into breathless gasps as she flops back down onto the bed. I wipe my mouth and rub the back of my aching neck slightly as I climb up over her until we’re face to face. 

“I’ve told you about the hair thing.” I kiss her, gently biting her bottom lip and she sighs into it, wrapping her arms around my neck. “My hair is very valuable.”

“I cannot help it. My body does what it chooses.” She kisses me again, still trying to catch her breath, wrapping her legs around me. “I think you enjoy it.”

“Not really. Does your husband enjoy it?” She scowls. “Oh wait! He has no hair to pull.”

She grabs one of my curls and tugs hard on it, making me flinch. “Even if he did, I wouldn’t get the opportunity. He hasn’t gone down on me in years.”

“Oh, so _that’s_ why you keep inviting me over.”

She arches one of her beautifully shaped eyebrows. “Was that not obvious, Montague?”

“I thought we had a deep connection!” I force out my most dramatic, devastated sigh. “I suppose I can settle for the illicit sex.”

She smirks and I lean down to start mouthing her neck, my mind jumping back to the night this thing first started. Wratham’s Christmas party, about six months ago. Duke had gotten so drunk he had to be folded into the back of a taxi home, and Jeanne told him she was having too much fun to leave just because he couldn’t handle his whiskey, so two years of constant flirting finally paid off with a frantic, knee-trembling shag up against my locker.

Since then, it’s been on and off, and there are still no emotional attachments. Our arrangement works because we both hate Duke Bourbon as much as we love fucking each other. As far as I’m concerned, it couldn’t be more perfect.

Her hand slides down between us and I groan, biting down gently on her shoulder, before my phone starts loudly ringing and we both flinch. I look over at where it’s sat on the bedside table, vibrating so aggressively it’s about to fall off the edge. Jeanne nips at my earlobe to get my attention back to her.

“Ow! Hold on, just…” I roll off of her and she huffs dramatically. I sit on the side of the bed to look at the phone and my stomach drops. “It’s my father.”

“So? Don’t answer it and come back to me, idiot.”

I’ve ignored the last three of these calls. Despite the horrendous timing, I think I should probably answer this one.

I clear my throat. “Hi, dad.”

 _“Henry, where are you? Bourbon said you were pathetic at training. And late. You can’t at least be on time?”_ He’s practically spitting down the line already.

“I’m just at Felicity’s office, she’s just told me exciting news about a new campai—”

 _“You are LYING to me, Henry.”_ His French accent is becoming more pronounced. A very bad sign. _“I am at Felicity’s office.”_

Shit.

“Well, I… I meant I just left her office, and now I’m… at a friend’s, so—” I look over at Jeanne and she’s watching me, her eyebrows furrowed in what I can only describe as pity. God, this is humiliating.

_“Tomorrow, you will meet me at my office. It seems you need reminding of a few things.”_

“Dad, I really don’t think that’s…”

He cuts me off. _“Four pm, Henry.”_

He hangs up and I look at the screen of my phone, my shoulders suddenly feeling heavy. After a few seconds, I feel Jeanne’s arms slide around me and I can’t help but flinch slightly. Thankfully she doesn’t seem to notice, and nuzzles into me, kissing my neck.

“You should not let him talk to you like that,” she grumbles into my skin and I frown.

“And you shouldn’t talk about him at all.” She stills, but doesn’t move away. “It’s none of your business.”

After a pause, I feel her nod. “You are right. And I don’t care.” She reaches around and grabs my chin, tilting my face towards her. “Now are you going to fuck me, or are you going to leave?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” She bites her lip and a spark of desire shoots through me, sending thoughts of my impending meeting with my father quickly to the back of my mind. I toss my phone onto the floor and turn around, tackling her back onto the bed.

She cackles as I pin her arms but then pushes against me. I let her go and she grabs my arms instead, rolling over so that she’s on top of me, straddling my hips. As she leans back and slowly pulls her negligee over her head... suddenly I can’t even remember what my father looks like.

  
  
  


\-------------------------

  
  
  
  


I get to training on time the next day, but it’s nothing to do with the meeting I have with my father later. I’d like that noted. 

I grab an iced coffee on the way in and head into the locker room, where most of the lads seem to be gathered around someone’s phone, guffawing at some sort of YouTube video. I consider going to join them out of curiosity, but then notice Percy sitting on his own on a bench, engrossed in his own phone.

He looked gorgeous yesterday, even through the blur of a hangover and a couple of lines. Today, in the crisp daylight that sobriety and caffeine brings, he’s even more striking. 

Beautiful brown skin and long hair which has been half-braided but ends in a wild pile of curls at the back. I can vaguely see what may be freckles across his nose, but I haven’t yet been close enough to confirm. He’s stylish too. Both times I’ve seen him, he’s worn tight slacks which perfectly accentuate his long legs (admittedly, a bit of a fetish of mine) and some sort of hipster art school t-shirt, his bag slung across his chest.

He hasn’t noticed me come in, so I’m overwhelmed with a need to see what he’s looking at. Text from a fuck buddy? Nudes? With a face like that, he must be as bombarded with them as I am. I walk over, sitting on the bench behind him and peering over his shoulder. It’s Instagram. How disappointing.

He scrolls through, liking every post he sees and I take a mental note of what he’s looking at. Football… football… rugby? This is all looking a little bit hetero. Oh wait. Trixie Mattel! _I knew it!_ I knew he had to be queer. I grin as he keeps scrolling, this is fun. Nigella Lawson, David Beckham (eye roll), the selfie I took in bed this morning.

Wait. _Me._ He follows _me_.

He’s also stopped on my post. He tilts his head slightly and zooms in on my eyes and I think my life just peaked at this exact moment. Then he scrolls past without even liking the photo and my eyes narrow slightly. Cheeky bastard.

I get bored at this point and take a loud slurp of my iced coffee. He jumps and turns around, blushing slightly when he sees me. I smile and wave.

“Good morning! How’s Yardstick?”

“Oh. Yeah. She’s…” He puts his phone away, composing himself. “She’s fine. Was sneaking up on me really necessary?”

“I didn’t _sneak_. You were miles away.” I motion to his nose. “You gave in.”

He defensively touches the hole in his nose where his septum piercing used to be. “Well.. don’t want to be pissing off the gaffer on my first week.”

I pull a face. “No, wouldn’t want that.”

He looks me up and down slightly and somehow I can feel it. Like a prickly heat where his eyes have been. “You look…”

“Gorgeous? Effortless? Iconic?”

“Clean.” I snort. “Well, compared to yesterday I mean.”

“I was clean yesterday, Perce! I’d just had a late night, that’s all. I was in bed at a sensible time last night and I am ready to do some footballing.” He laughs. “That’s what we call it, right? Footballing?”

“Your ‘I don’t care about football’ thing doesn’t fool me, Monty. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t passionate about it.” I sip my coffee again, staring at him. “Am I finally going to see you play today?”

“I may show off just a little. For you.” He looks away, but not before I see the instant blush appear on his cheeks. I’m so glad I showed up today.

Duke appears at this point and launches into some sort of speech that’s meant to be motivational. I completely phase out, as usual, watching the back of Percy’s head as he listens intently.

Okay, yes. I fancy him. A lot. In fact I haven’t been this ‘feel like I’ve been punched in the face’ attracted to someone in years. But nothing’s going to happen. Even if he is queer. Felicity is right, teammates need to be out of bounds, especially if I’m going to keep my bisexuality out of the press.

But I can flirt, right? And he can flirt back maybe. And I picture him in the shower when I have a wank. Nothing stopping me doing that, is there?

I snap out of my staring session when everyone stands up. I guess the pep talk is over. I can sense Percy is trying his best not to catch my eye, but I’m not having it, so I jump up and follow him over to his locker.

“Any more great facts about yourself to share yet?” I lower my voice. “I gave you a pretty good one. We’re not even.”

He smirks slightly. “I’m rationing them.”

“You’re a tease.” I expect him to blush again but he looks at me, quirking an eyebrow, and I’m sure I must visibly melt onto the floor in a giant puddle. This man is a menace.

  
  
  


\-------------------------

  
  
  
  


I’m pretty chuffed with my performance in training. My deep-seated need to show off to people I fancy pays off sometimes. Even Duke kept his mouth shut for once. I leave straight after a shower, giving myself time to get back to my apartment and get pleasantly pissed before I have to go to dad’s office.

I shove on my sunglasses as I get outside and head to the car park when I hear some obnoxiously loud hip hop music playing and look out at the road. A bright yellow Lamborghini pulls up to the kerb with a screech and I roll my eyes as the window winds down and Richard Peele sticks his head out.

“Montague!”

“Sorry! I don’t speak English!” I go to keep walking and he leans on his horn, just to add to the general noise pollution he’s making. I flinch and groan to myself, making an about turn and heading over, if only to shut him up. “ _What?_ ”

“Just finished training and I’m bored.” He grins, nodding his head in the direction of his (very cramped) back seat. “Fancy a drive?”

“I have my own car, remember?”

He rolls his eyes at me and I look around to check none of my teammates are about. Peele is the goalkeeper for Wratham City, our closest rivals geographically (although nowhere near us in the league). I can’t stand the guy but he gives an above average blowjob, so every now and then we end up in an alley behind a bar. Or his sad little bachelor pad. Or, much to my back’s objections, the backseat of this exact Lamborghini.

“I’ve _just_ showered, for fuck’s sake.” He grins. He knows I’ve given in. I give in far too easily to everything.

I look around again then sigh, walking around his car and getting in the passenger seat. He leans over to bite my neck and I shove him away.

“Jesus, Peele! We’re _right outside_ the stadium!”

“Oh you love the danger.” I narrow my eyes at him. I do love the danger, but mostly I just want this over with. “My place?”

I look at my watch. I have two hours, and lots of drinking to do. “Just a quick one. I don’t have much time.”

“God, you really know how to get me going.” I give him a sarcastic smile and he winds his window up, blasting his music even louder and slamming his foot on the accelerator.


	3. You Are So Far Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy is in denial about his Monty obsession, the boys take part in the world's flirtiest training session... and Percy has a little secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thank you to Milo for checking I'm not totally out of my tree with the sports stuff!
> 
> Content warnings for this chapter: Usual strong language, sex references, references to drugs and this chapter features references to an epileptic seizure. It's a cute chapter though I swear!

**PERCY**

My new apartment is still a work in progress. I bought some paint samples for the walls and they’re randomly splodged in each room. I still have a few boxes of IKEA furniture I haven’t even unsealed. Sim offered to come over and help me sort my life out, but the moment she showed up with a huge bag of snacks, we abandoned that plan and instead flopped onto the sofa to watch football highlights.

Yardstick hops onto the back of the sofa and walks along it, leaning over me and trying to sniff the food I’m eating, so I gently nudge her away.

“For the last time… cats cannot eat pringles.” Sim uses this opportunity to snatch them from me and I pout at her. “You don’t even like sour cream and onion.”

“I haven’t eaten since breakfast, I could eat you right now.”

“I didn’t think I was your type.” She throws a pringle at me. I pick it up and eat it, choking slightly when one of the hosts on TV says my name. “Fuck! Go back.” 

She quickly grabs the remote and rewinds it a few seconds.

_“Wratham United’s newest transfer from Waburn, Percy Newton, was looking strong in training this morning at the Wratham ground. Due to play his first match in two weeks, this young lad is a promising…”_

“Shit, I had no idea they had cameras on at training.” I point at the screen. “Look! That’s the drill I was telling you about! Duke came up with the idea in _hell_ , I’m pretty sure. When he was on his nightshift as a spawn of Satan.”

She laughs. “It looks fine! Don’t blame your manager for your shit stamina, Newton.”

I huff and feel slightly relieved when the hosts move on to talking about the rest of the team. They’re focusing on Monty now, showing some footage of him in yesterday’s training session. He was in full showboat mode for some reason, doing fancy tackles to piss everyone off and effortlessly sailing through drills. (Not that I was watching him too closely or anything.) They cut to some footage of him from an old post-game interview, looking sweaty and dishevelled, his hair falling into his eyes as he breathlessly tries t—

“ _Hello?”_ Sim snaps at me and I jump, turning to look at her. “Are you kidding me? I said your name like three times!”

“Wha… really? Sorry.” I can feel my cheeks getting hot so I shove a few pringles in my mouth, hoping she won’t notice me going red. 

“Oh my god, you are so far gone.” She picks up the remote again, pausing the TV on an annoyingly flattering still of Monty, in the middle of one of his press-ready dimpled smiles. “Don’t even try and deny it. You’ve wanted to hump that man’s leg for years.”

I choke again. “ _Hump his leg_? Fucking hell, Sim.”

“Well, I don’t know what you gays get up to behind closed doors.” I laugh and she shuffles over, elbowing me. “Come on. Admit it. You loooooove him.”

“He’s my colleague!” I grab the remote off of her and press play. That smile is not helping matters. “Any… minor thing I used to have for him is irrelevant now.”

“Minor thing, my arse.” She starts listing on her fingers. “Picture of him on your phone desktop? Check. Unofficial calendar? Check. Texting me all excited when you got first comment on one of his Instagram photos? Cheeeeck.”

“Can you please just let me have this level of denial? As a friend?” She cackles and I sigh, sinking back further into the cushions. “It’s different now we’ve met. He’s not even… ya know… _that_ hot in person.”

“Absolute bollocks. Your boner for him has doubled, I can tell.” She folds her arms. “In fact, why _are_ you being so defensive about this? I would have thought you’d be happily thirsting away.”

I pause. I can’t tell her why it’s complicated without betraying Monty’s trust. But it’s Sim. She wouldn’t say anything. She knows what it’s like to be outed, how it can cause your world to collapse. And it would be nice to have someone to talk to about this… this increasingly distracting crush. I take a deep breath and turn to her, folding my legs underneath me. 

“So I need to tell you something. And you have to keep it between us.” She laughs, then frowns a bit when she sees my face. “I’m serious, Sim.”

“Uhh… okay?” She turns to face me fully too, looking concerned. “What the fuck happened?” 

“No! Nothing. I uhm… Monty. Is into men.” Her jaw drops and I nod. “He told me. The first morning we met actually.”

She looks as shocked as I’ve ever seen her. “He’s _gay_?”

“He’s bi. He’s very much still a… “ I begrudgingly make air quotes with my fingers, even though it pains me. “ _‘Ladies Man_ ’. He’s just also a… ‘ _Man’s Man_ ’? Fuck, I don’t know. Anyway, he’s very much not out. His publicist basically stomps out any rumour of him not being completely hetero.”

“Okay, so… that’s insane. For many reasons. But… why the hell would he tell you? He barely knows you.” I shrug and she frowns, then suddenly gasps. “ _Holy fuck_!! He likes you!”

I give her a look. “You… _what_? Likes me? I mean we’re getting along pretty well if that’s what—”

“That is _not_ what I mean! Percy!” She does a dramatic sigh, that I know to be her ‘am I really having to explain this to you?’ sigh. “He’s into men. You are a very hot man. He insists on taking you for coffee—”

“Tradition for all the new players,” I interrupt.

“Like fuck it is.” I shoot her a look and she continues. “Then he immediately tells you his biggest secret - he likes to have sex with men.” I blink at her and she leans over, hitting me on the arm. “He wants a piece of you, you moron!”

“Wha… no he doesn’t! He’s _Henry Montague_ , Sim! Why the hell would he be into _me_? He doesn’t even know I’m gay for a start…”

“Oh come on. Look… you might be able to fool all the straights on your old team and maybe on this one but… Monty is queer. He _knows_.” She grins, suddenly looking incredibly excited. “Oh my god, this is the greatest thing that has ever happened to anyone ever. This would be like me becoming an actress, going on set with Ruby Rose and her immediately offering to go down on me.” 

I can’t help but laugh. “You’re ridiculous. This is ridiculous.” 

My phone, which has been sitting on the coffee table, buzzes, and we both glance down at it. We look back at each other for a second, then both make a grab for the phone at the same time. I win but only just, and I hold the phone out of her reach as she tries to wrestle it away from me. 

“No! Sim! _Boundaries_!” She realises she’s no match for the length of my arms and sits back, huffing. “It’s probably not even him!” I look at the screen. “It is him.”

“Of course it is! Right. I’ll make a bet with you right now. If that text is flirty as hell, you owe me five hundred quid.” I scoff. “If it’s entirely friendly, just straight lad banter… I owe _you_ five hundred quid. Are we on?” 

“Since when do you have five hundred quid to bet with?”

“Doesn’t matter. Cos I’m gonna win and you’re fucking loaded.” She holds out her hand. “We on?”

I narrow my eyes, trying to think back to the content of the last few texts we’ve exchanged. Maybe a couple of them were verging on flirty… but I assume that’s just how Monty talks to everyone. I think I’m fairly safe.

“You’re on.” I shake her hand, then sit back, unlocking my phone and we both look at the message.

**_Monty:_ ** _send nudes xx_

Shit. Sim cackles next to me, punching me in the arm. I don’t think I’ve seen her this happy in years.

“This is the _greatest day of my life_.” She won’t stop laughing and I attempt to push her off the sofa but she’s stronger than I remember and I end up almost falling off myself.

“He’s clearly joking! No one actually sends that to people they’re into!” She finally stops laughing to raise an eyebrow at me. “Well.. I wouldn’t.”

“That’s because you’re sweet and adorable. Not all of us can be so pure.” She nudges me. “Well don’t keep him waiting!” 

I give her a look then pause. “Hold on.” 

I go into camera mode and hold the phone up, angling it so we’re both in the picture. She rolls her eyes but then poses, sticking out her tongue and throwing a peace sign. I give a sideways grin (that I may or may not have heard described as “knee-weakening” at some point.) I take a quick photo then send it to Monty.

**_Me:_ ** _[image_3838.png]_

**_Monty:_ ** _the most disappointing picture message i’ve ever opened_

_and that’s saying something xx_

_shit sorry, am i interrupting date night??_

**_Me:_ ** _lol… no. that’s my best friend sim. she’s gay as hell_

**_Monty:_ ** _GOOD FOR HER. men are trash xx_

I show Sim the messages and she laughs. “I like him. He’s funny.”

“Yeah, he’s funnier than I expected.” She grins at me. “Oh, now what?”

“You’re so smitten.” 

“I am not fucking smitten.” I put my phone in my pocket out of sight. I’m dying to reply to him but it can wait, especially if it means Sim will stop taking the piss. “It’s just a little crush. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“Whatever.” She sits back, reaching for another bag of crisps and inelegantly putting her Doc Martens up on the coffee table. “I’m already planning my best man speech.”

\-------------------------

  
  


Standing at my locker in the stadium the next morning, I rub my temples, hoping this headache I can feel creeping up on me at least waits until training is finished to escalate any further. I fold up my clothes and put them away, jumping when the locker next to mine slams open. I look over and Monty grins at me, pushing his sunglasses onto the top of his head.

“Morning!” He seems very awake for 8am. “Have fun with your lesbian friend?”

He takes off his shirt, shoving it into his locker in a screwed-up ball. I quickly look away. “That makes my life sound a bit like a porno. We only watched Bridgerton.”

“No idea what that is, but it sounds boring.” He does a huge stretch, still smiling at me, and I find it increasingly hard not to look at his bare chest. “Still waiting for those nudes by the way.”

I quickly look around us to check no one is close enough to hear and he laughs, slapping me on the shoulder.

“You know, if you weren’t so easy to make blush, I’d probably leave you alone.”

I roll my eyes and smile slightly, thinking back to my talk with Sim last night, which annoyingly I’ve not been able to get out of my head. I glance over at Monty again as he finishes changing, my eyes lingering on the bicep on the arm closest to me. I picture wrapping my hand around it and pulling him close to me, maybe pushing him against my locker and kissing his neck…

Fuck. I really am far gone. But I still can’t bring myself to believe the feeling is anywhere near mutual.

“Want to pair up with me for training today?” He asks. I jump slightly, suddenly wondering if I’ve been somehow thinking out loud.

“Uhm… yeah. That works.” I sit down to pull on my boots while he pulls on the rest of his training kit. “You’re in a good mood this morning.”

“Am I not always in a good mood? It’s a beautiful day, Percy Newton. And I’m about to kick your arse.” He grins again. “Lots to be happy about.”

* * * * * * *

After a warmup jog, our first drill is sprints. I hate sprints. I try my best to keep up with Monty as we go, he has shorter legs than me but somehow twice the stamina and almost twice the speed. I slow down slightly to try and catch my breath and he notices, running back to find me.

“Really, Newton? You’re a professional athlete, why do you have the lung capacity of a sixty-year-old smoker?”

“That…” I muster up the energy to point at him. “Is an exaggeration.”

He laughs at me. “Come on, I’m not running ahead. As much as I’m aware you’d love to stare at my arse, you have to be able to keep up with me.”

“Fuck off, Monty.” He laughs even harder. I try my best to speed up and we start running again. “This is why I play centre back. I hate running.”

Duke blows his whistle and shouts through his megaphone. “Pair up! One of you sprints, the other planks!”

I hate planks even more than running.

“Oh! Fun!” Monty bounces on his feet, smiling at me. “You first.” He slaps me on the back (I really wish he’d stop doing that) and sprints away. I let out a huge sigh and drop to the ground, getting in plank position and regretting all of my life choices.

* * * * * * *

The next drill is my favourite. One-on-ones. Monty refuses to pair up with anyone else, so we’re facing off with each other, trying to out-manoeuvre the other and get the ball past them, without any illegal tackling.

We seem to be pretty equal at this one, and after a few rounds, we end up staring each other out, both trying to work out each other’s weaknesses. Monty has the ball under his foot and he’s watching me intently, he’s finally starting to look out of breath from the exertion, which is a relief, as I was starting to suspect he’d be out-running me all day.

My head is throbbing a little again, but the adrenaline is pushing it to the back of thoughts. I tilt my head, biting my lip as I’m thinking. And then I notice his eyes fall straight to my mouth.

Interesting.

I chew my lip a little longer then let it go, swiping my tongue across it. I see Monty swallow hard, looking slightly dazed, so I take my opportunity. I tackle him before he’s even noticed I’ve moved and steal the ball, moving past him.

“Shit! That was…” He chases after me. “I wasn’t ready!”

I laugh and turn around, picking up the ball as he narrows his eyes at me.

“Well, be ready next time!” I drop the ball down by my feet, ready to go again.

I look up at Monty who still looks slightly flustered, but he shakes it off, stretching out his arms across his chest, then up above his head. His shirt rides up and I see a tiny glimpse of skin above the waistband of his shorts.

I saw him completely topless an hour ago, so I mentally kick myself for being pathetic enough to even notice such a tiny bit of nudity. My bastard of an imagination kicks in again, however, and I imagine my hands sliding under his shirt, brushing across the muscles of his stoma—

He tackles me and gets the ball easily, getting past me as my brain is still catching up.

I am an idiot.

I chase him down and he doesn’t stop, laughing and dribbling the ball down the pitch (which is very much not the purpose of this drill). I tackle him, a little more aggressively this time, and he gives as good as he gets. We end up in a one-on-one scrimmage which somehow ends with me tripping over his calf, landing on my arse, and accidentally taking him down with me.

He falls to the ground next to me, his legs still tangled up in mine and the ball rolls away from us. I drop backwards so I’m lying fully on the grass and for some reason, I start laughing my arse off. I manage to compose myself after a minute and look up to see that Monty is still sitting next to me, one leg still thrown over one of mine, and that gorgeous, easy smile on his face again.

“Alright there, darling?” he says. I blanche slightly.

_Darling?_

And with that, I suddenly notice the pounding in my head has kicked it up a notch. I frown and Monty’s face falls too as I press the heel of my hand into my eye.

“You okay, Perce?” He shuffles slightly closer. “Did I hurt you?”

“No! No. You didn’t. It’s just… a migraine I think.” I grimace as the headache deepens and pull myself up off of the grass. “I need to get inside.”

“Yeah? Okay.” He stands up too, trying to get a look at my face but I keep it turned away. “I’ll take you.”

“No, honestly Monty. Just stay. I’m just going to take some painkillers and sit out for twenty minutes.” He doesn’t look convinced, so I look at him and force a little smile. “I’ll be back for a rematch, I promise.”

“Fine… just… take it easy, yeah?” He reaches out and touches my arm squeezing slightly. “I’ll talk to Duke.”

I nod to him and start walking inside, back through the tunnel and into the locker room. Every step feels like I’m dragging heavy weights inside of my boots.

This is definitely not a migraine.  
  
  


* * * * * * *

“Percy? _Percy_!”

The next thing I’m aware of is opening my eyes to a blur of pink. The Wratham locker room is decorated the same colour as our kit. It’s overwhelming on the best of days, but now it’s making my stomach turn. 

Or maybe it’s the seizure I just had doing the stomach turning.

I blink my eyes a couple of times, trying to focus, and I see Monty’s face a few inches from mine. He’s repeating my name, but I can barely register him. I open my mouth to say something and suddenly my stomach lurches violently. I lean away from him just in time, vomiting on the floor next to me.

“Fuck! What the fuck!” I feel Monty scrabbling around for something and then he starts mopping it up with one of the towels we keep on the bench. “Are you gonna throw up again? Shall I get something?” 

“No, I think I’m…” I swallow, taking a deep breath. “I think that’s it. I’m…” I look at him and he stops what he’s doing with the towel and looks back at me. He looks terrified. “What are you doing here?”

“You were gone bloody ages! I came to find you and you were… I dunno! What _was_ that?”

“A seizure.” I slowly pull myself up to a sitting position. “I have epilepsy.”

“ _Epilepsy_?” He shakes his head. “You’re…you’re a professional footballer, how can you…”

“I didn’t… I thought I had it under control. I haven’t had a seizure in two years, but… I’ve felt odd lately.” I look around me, holding my hand to my head and pressing against it. “Did I hit my head?”

“No. I don’t think so. Percy…” He leans in and tries to take a proper look at me. I want to climb into a hole and hide. “That was… horrible. Are you okay? Can I do anything?” 

Go away. Stop pretending to care. Never look at me again and forget this never happened. “Just… please don’t say anything.”

“Say anything?” He frowns. “They don’t know, do they? About the epilepsy?”

I scowl at him. “Do they know you take coke before training every morning?”

He flinches at this, looking shocked. I’m shocked too. I don’t know where that came from.

“I… don’t. Not every morning. Just when I’m…” He sits back slightly, frowning and staring at his hands. He’s trying to _help_ me and I snapped at him. If I didn’t already feel like terrible enough, I now feel like the worst human being in existence.

Eventually, he looks up at me. “Let me drive you home.”

“No. I’m…” I try to stand up and my legs buckle from under me. Monty grabs my arm and carefully lowers me back down.

“I’m driving you home.”

\-------------------------

He drives me home. Apart from giving him the occasional direction, we don’t speak on the drive. (I don’t even comment when he almost runs a red light, seemingly only remembering I was in the car at the last second and slamming on his brakes).

My muscles are aching from the seizure, and my brain feels like it’s swimming. We pull up to my apartment building and I open the car door, trying to drag myself out, but I run out of energy halfway through. Monty notices and quickly gets out of his side, coming round to mine and helping me stand up.

“Thank you. I uhm… “ I motion to the building, forcing a smile at him. “This is me, so…”

“Perce. You couldn’t get out of the car without help, I’m not leaving until you’re somewhere safe and lying horizontally.” He links his arm with mine and locks his car. “Come on now, old dear. Let’s get you to bed.”

I narrow my eyes at him and he wiggles his eyebrows back at me. I sigh. He’s right. I need my bed and I’m not going to get there without help. Thankfully my building has a lift, and it doesn’t take us too long to get to my floor, leaning on Monty as I walk. He still smells of sweat from training (presumably, I do too), but underneath I smell the faintest hint of a very expensive cologne. It’s a nice amount, enough to smell but not so much it’s choking me. I can’t help but hope the smell hangs around on my own clothes once he’s gone.

Christ, I need to get a grip.

When we reach my apartment and I reach for my keys, I hesitate slightly. “It’s uhm… it’s kind of a mess. I’ve just moved in.”

He gives me a look. “I’m not from Architectural Digest. Is there a bed?” I nod. “Then it’s perfect. Come on.”

We go inside and he closes the door behind us. Yardstick immediately runs over to us and Monty gasps, checking I’m okay to stand on my own before bending down to pet her.

“And you must be the famous Yardstick!” She purrs, nodding into his hand. “Cats love me.”

“For some reason, that doesn’t surprise me.” I watch him for a second, smirking slightly as he grins at her, looking instantly smitten. “Well, if you two want to be alone, I can just…”

He looks up at me and I motion to my bedroom. He laughs and stands up.

“Sorry. She’s very distracting.” He shifts on his feet, looking slightly awkward and looking around at the apartment. “This is nice.”

“I’m sure it’s about a quarter of the size of yours.” He shrugs. “But thanks.”

“It’s not the size that counts, darling. It’s…”

“What you do with it? Yeah, I’m aware of the concept.” He grins at me. He’s clearly more comfortable flirting than having any kind of serious conversation. “Thank you. For driving me.”

“I told you. I’m not leaving until you’re safely lying down. Come on.”

He gently grabs my arm again and takes me into the bedroom, depositing me on the bed and then crouching down to untie my boots. I clear my throat, suddenly feeling very aware of the fact that Monty is in my bedroom. In fact, he’s on his knees in front of me in my bedroom.

If I didn’t feel like I was about to vomit directly on his head, it might be quite arousing.

He takes off my boots, tossing them aside and then actually grabbing my legs, swinging them onto the bed. I can’t help but laugh slightly at this.

“I know how to lie on a bed, Monty.” He ignores me and I sigh, lying back as he leans over and fluffs up my pillows.

He gives me an assessing look up and down, then nods, seemingly satisfied before heading out of the room again. I hear some clunking around in the kitchen (and what seems to be some pretty serious conversation with my cat) before he turns on a tap. He comes back a minute later with a glass of water, which he places on the bedside table.

“Right. That’s…” He puts his hand on his hips, looking around and biting his lip, looking anxious. “What else? Oh! Medicine! Do you have medicine?”

“There are some painkillers…” I point to the drawer right next to my head. “In there. But honestly, I just need to sleep… you can go.”

“Okay. Yes. I can go.” He stares at me for a minute. “Are you _sure_? I kind of feel… I mean this is sort of my fault.”

I frown, lifting my head up slightly. “How is… how the fuck is it your fault?”

“Oh come on!” He perches on the side of the bed. “I was basically bullying you into pushing yourself. Making you run faster, making you chase me across the pitch…”

“Monty, I’m a footballer. It’s my job. This…” I motion to my head. “Has nothing to do with you being a dick at training. I swear.”

“Really?” He doesn’t look entirely convinced, but seems to relax slightly. “I’m still sorry. And… I promise I won’t say anything. To anyone.”

“Oh. That’s… thank you. This job means a lot to me, that’s all. I know it’s fucked up but.. I can’t lose it. I’ll deal with this.” He smiles slightly and I take a deep breath. “I’m really sorry. About what I said in the locker room.”

“Psshhtt… that? Already forgotten.”

“No, I’m serious. It’s none of my business what you do. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” I rub my head. “I must have knocked something loose in my brain during the seizure.”

“Eh… I was prying. Your health is none of my business.” He scratches his head. “Besides, it’s hardly a secret that I’m a huge fucking mess.” 

“You’re not a huge fucking mess. A medium-sized mess. At most.” He smiles at me, looking sad, and I feel the world tilt sideways slightly. “Go home, Monty. I’m okay.”

He nods. “Okay. Yes. You need to sleep.” He leans over, hesitates, then awkwardly pats my shoulder. “Feel better. Text me! When you feel better.”

“I will. I promise. And I’ll be better by the match. I swear on Yardstick’s whiskers.”

He gasps. “Do not bring my wife into this.”

I laugh and he smiles again, giving me an awkward wave before walking out. I hear the door close and I drop my head back on the bed. I stare at the ceiling for a few seconds before grabbing my phone out of my pocket.

**_Me:_ ** _i had a seizure :-/ i’m ok_

**_Sim:_ ** _WHAT?? a seizure?? how did that happen?? where are you?_

**_Me:_ ** _i don’t know. i’ll call my doctor tomorrow_

_but honestly i’m ok. monty drove me home i’m in bed_

**_Sim:_ ** _… monty drove you home_

**_Me:_ ** _yep_

**_Sim:_ ** _……. are you sure you’re ok?_

I stare at my phone for a second, chewing on my bottom lip. To hell with it. I write a reply.

**_Me:_ ** _fuck. i think i’m falling for him_


	4. Because of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Monty and Percy are in the mood to drink their problems away, so it's time for a night out. Nothing regretful will happen at all. Nope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As [goldenthunderstorms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenthunderstorms/pseuds/goldenthunderstorms) once told me, "be the change you want to see in the tag." Therefore I present, 1000+ words of Mercy spice.
> 
> It is important to the plot I swear, and still just M rated, but if you do want to skip/skim that scene, it starts with "Thank fuck for VIP toilets." (... I'm SORRY). You can probably get the idea of what happens from the rest of the chapter.
> 
> Other content warnings: some drug use, strong language, sexual references, brief references to child abuse :-/

**MONTY**

I am not thinking about Percy.

I’m in the gym at the stadium, reserved for Wratham players. It’s not my favourite location for a workout (no women to watch on the treadmills and cruising the men is _definitely_ not an option) but it’s convenient, and I need to distract myself.

The latest Taylor Swift album is speaking to me lately for some reason, so I play it full blast on my Air Pods as I lift weights. Occasionally one of my teammates will walk by and try to get my attention, I offer them a quick nod but don’t bother trying to converse. They seem to get the hint and disappear fairly quickly, and I get back to _not thinking about Percy_.

Okay, so here, specifically, is what I’m definitely not thinking about:

How gorgeous Percy is. Especially his mouth. And eyes. And arms.

How much I like being around him. He makes me laugh; he makes me want to make _him_ laugh.

How much I want to take care of him.

The last one has been a shock to the system. I didn’t even know I was capable of taking care of someone, but seeing him pale and shaken after his seizure last week flipped some sort of switch in me and now, I can’t stop wondering if he’s okay.

He’s still not back at training (he told Duke he had a family emergency and had to go to London) and I’ve sent him roughly seven thousand texts in the meantime, receiving seven thousand “I’m FINE, Monty, stop FRETTING” texts in response.

Apparently, he’ll be back in a couple of days, ready to train up for his first match. As much as I miss him, I’d prefer if he laid in bed forever, rather than seeing him suffer like that again.

When did I get so _soft_?

I look up when someone else stands in front of me, trying not to roll my eyes. My heart sinks slightly when I see it’s Duke. He stares at me until I take out my headphones.

“My office please.” He says, although it’s more of a demand than a request.

I take a deep breath and put my weights away, grabbing a towel to wipe my face then follow him down the hall to his office.

He sits at his desk and I sit opposite, looking at the framed picture next to me of his wedding day. Jeanne is throwing her head back in the world’s most phony laugh and he looks like he can’t believe his luck to even be standing next to her. I think back to the times I’ve tried to convince her to let me screw her in here, but so far, she’s been tremendously stubborn about it. Duke clears his throat and I look up at him.

“Are you going to listen to this conversation, Montague? Or should I just send it via email to your sister, so the message actually sinks in?”

I raise my eyebrows. “I didn’t realise that was an option. Email please.”

He glares at me. “I had a troubling phone call this morning.”

“That’s a shame.” He blinks at me. “Was it related to me, by any chance?”

“It was related to this.” He slams down a magazine in front of me. It’s open to a two-page spread about a model I vaguely recognise for some reason. My eyes scan the page and fall on what seems to be a paparazzi photo of me with my tongue in her mouth, against the wall outside of a bar. No wonder her face is familiar.

I pause. “Was it her on the phone? Did you take a message, or…?”

He slams his hand down on the magazine and I flinch, recoiling back into my chair.

“You enjoy this, don’t you? Making my team look like a fucking _joke_?”

I try to take a deep breath, trying to remind myself that this is Duke Bourbon. The best example I’ve ever met of ‘all bark, and no bite.’

“Duke, I’ve scored in our last five consecutive games.” I smirk slightly. “Does it really matter who I score with on the weekends?”

“Hilarious”, he spits out. I don’t think he really found it very funny. “It matters to our sponsors.”

“Our sponsors? Our sponsor is Tinder.” He rolls his eyes. “Pretty sure Tinder don’t mind if I sleep around.”

“Tinder is _one_ of our sponsors. Another is Santander. And I had the head of Santander’s public relations on the phone to me today asking me why our star striker can’t seem to keep out of the tabloids. Or keep his dick in his pants.”

“Did they… use those actual words?” He glares at me and I can’t help but wilt slightly. “I really don’t see why it’s important.”

“Whether you understand it or not doesn’t fucking matter. They don’t like it. And they give us a shit ton of money. So, for fuck’s sake…” He tosses the magazine into my lap, then sits back. “Grow up. Or at least be a little more discreet.”

“Discreet. Righto.” I fold the magazine up, putting in the pocket of my shorts. I’ve been meaning to look that model up, but I’d forgotten her name. Perhaps she’ll make a good Percy distraction. (If a certain French lady isn’t available – any meeting with Duke usually ends with an instant Jeanne phone call as soon as I’m out of the room.)

“You know, you could afford to be a little bit more like your dad.” I flinch, looking up at him. “He managed to score the goals and keep his shit together. Why can’t you?”

Oh yes. My dad. Master of keeping his shit together. Or at least keeping it out of the papers. They never found out about any of his drunken cheating on my mother. The multiple abortions he paid for (put down on his tax return as “misc expenses”). The beating the shit out of his barely teenage son after he found gay porn mags in his bedroom.

“I have no interest in being a role model. Or being anything like my father.”

“I’m sure he’d love to hear that. We haven’t had a catch up in a while.” I swallow and he smiles. “I think that’s all. I’m sure you’d like to get back to your workout.”

I’m sure I would like to grab one of the pens from your desk and shove it through your eye. Instead I give him my biggest, fakest smile.

“Indeed I do. Thanks guv.”

I give him a salute and stand up to walk out, trying my best not to look as angry as I am or to slam the door behind me. I start to walk back to the gym, then change my mind, turning back on my heel and heading towards the stadium’s exit instead. I take my phone out of my pocket and scroll to Jeanne’s contact almost instinctively. The thought of a little revenge shag is very appealing, but as I’m about to press dial, a message from Percy pops up. I open it.

**_Percy:_ ** _random q but have you heard the new taylor swift album?_

I grin, and immediately press the call button next to his name.

“Monty! Hi!” He sounds surprised and a little bit groggy. “How was your workout?”

“Do you fancy going out and getting pissed tonight?”

He pauses, as if he’s hesitating. Then clears his throat. “Actually, yes. I really fucking do.”

\-------------------------

Pearl is a pretty shitty bar, as far as ‘celebrity haunts’ go, but it has a few things going for it; security so scary that the paparazzi keep their distance. An entire floor for the VIP so I don’t have to spend the entire night dodging requests for selfies if I’m in a bad mood. And tonight, it has Percy. Leaning by the bar looking casual but still fucking gorgeous in an oversized long sleeved top, slacks and a pair of converse.

I suddenly feel slightly self-conscious of the fact I’m wearing top-to-toe Saint Laurent, but the moment he spots me and gives me a quick look up and down, before breaking into a huge smile, I have no regrets. (About the clothes or the fact I spent a good half an hour on my hair).

I walk over and he greets me with a massive hug, which he has to crouch down for. The height difference would be embarrassing for me if I didn’t find it so goddamn hot. I laugh and pull back to look at him.

“Well hello!”

“You came! You actually came!” He looks around, pointing at me. “Monty is here!”

“Oh thanks, I wanted to be harassed by drunk reality stars all night.” I step away and give him a look. “How is it possible you’re _this_ drunk already? How long have you been here?”

“I maaay have started drinking at home.” He swigs from his beer. “You have catching up to do.”

“Apparently so! Pre-drinks with Sim?” He shrugs and I frown slightly. “Everything okay, Perce?”

“Yes! All good. I just… don’t usually drink a lot. Bit of a lightweight.” I can’t help but laugh. That seems to be an understatement.

“Well, I feel honoured to meet drunk Percy. And now you must meet drunk Monty, so…” I snap my fingers over the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention. “Tequila shots please.”

“I’m slightly terrified to meet drunk Monty. Sober Monty is exhausting enough.” He nudges me. “So, what inspired you to have a night out?”

“Duke. Told me to behave.” I watch as the shots are being poured. “So I plan to behave as badly as possible.”

I pass him a shot then pick up my own. We clink them together then down them. Percy gags on his immediately and I laugh.

“Maybe you should slow down. Let me catch up.” I look at the bartender. “Two more please. And a double vodka and lime.”

“You drink fancy drinks.”

“I’m a fancy guy.” He looks over at the dancefloor, drinking his beer and fidgeting from foot to foot. “You want to dance, don’t you?”

“I do. I never dance. But I really, really want to dance.” He looks at me. “Come dance.”

“I will. I promise. But I am far too sober.” I gently push his arm. “Go. I’m more than happy to stand here and watch.”

“Pervert.”

“Would it surprise you to learn that I’ve been called that before?” He grins at me and I feel my face getting slightly hot. “Go. Grind on some strangers. It’s fun.”

“Okay.” He hands me his beer and practically skips away, pointing back at me. “Don’t hook up with anyone while I’m gone! I want to hang out with you tonight, not be a third wheel!”

“Sorry, Percy! Look at this face!” I point to myself and yell after him. “I can’t promise anything!”

He gives me the finger then disappears into the crowd, already attracting a few adoring glances. I sigh happily and lean back on the bar, quickly downing another shot.

* * * * * * * * * *

An hour later and I’m happily buzzed. Percy has retired from the dancefloor and I convince him to come upstairs to the VIP so we can get table service and don’t have to yell at each other over the music — which prompts the response, “ _are you seventy, Monty_?”

(The truth, which he’s not getting from me, is that I’m fed up with watching people drool all over him and I want him all to myself for a while).

We find a booth in the corner and I order myself another vodka and lime, and Percy another beer. His initial excitement and hyperactivity has faded slightly and now he keeps checking his phone, looking distracted.

“So when you said nothing was wrong, earlier… that was a big fat lie, wasn’t it?”

“Hmm?” He looks up at me, then puts his phone back in his pocket. “Oh. No. Honestly I’m okay. I just…”

“I know the look of a man who’s drinking to forget.” I point to myself. “Expert here.”

“Monty, that’s very very sad and we will return to it, but honestly… I’m fine. Just had a bit of shit news today, that’s all.”

“Okay, well you can talk to me, ya know. We’re friends.” I sit back and sip my drink. “I know I talk a lot of shit, but I’m actually a pretty good listener.”

“Anything you’re not good at? Listening, scoring goals, blow jobs…” He immediately goes red, as if he didn’t mean for those words to leave his mouth. “I mean. It was you. That said that. Before.”

I laugh. “I know. But yes there are probably plenty of things I’m shit at. I’ve just yet to discover them.” He gives me a look. “Come on, Perce. What bad news?”

“I uhm…” He scratches his head and takes a huge swig of his beer. “I’m a foster child. I mean I was a foster child. My parents died when I was really young, I don’t really remember them, so I ended up in a few homes when I was growing up.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I don’t really talk about it much. I don’t wanna be… ya know… a ‘rags to riches’ story. I just want to play and be known for that, ya know?” I nod, even though I can’t relate even slightly. “Anyway. Most of the homes were pretty shit. A couple were awful. But one was nice. It was with this lady Erica, she’s the only person I’ve ever actually called ‘mum’. She was sweet and she encouraged me with the football and everything. Things seemed actually normal for a while.

“I lived there for a couple of years when I was fourteen. Then when I was sixteen and she got this boyfriend. This huge, piece of shit boyfriend who was in sales or something. Liked to flash the cash around. He hated me on sight.” He swallows. “Then as soon as he found out I was gay, it got even worse.”

“Fuck, Perce. Did he…” I can’t bring myself to say it, so I pray he knows what I mean.

“Once. He hit me once but that was enough. I walked out. She tried to stop me, but she refused to break up with him, so I never went back. I found a squat with some other kids who were trying to get out of the system. That’s where I met Sim.”

“And… Erica?”

“She just died. One of my old foster brothers called to tell me today. Cancer apparently.” I offer him a sad smile and lean over, squeezing his wrist. “She called me loads ya know. I never picked up.”

“I’m really sorry. But you were hurt. She put him before you. That’s not what a good mum does.” I take a longer sip of my drink. “Trust me.”

He looks at me and hesitates. I assume he’s trying to work out whether he wants to pry, but then he just nods, giving me a little smile. I squeeze his wrist slightly again. “You realise that’s the first time you’ve told me you’re gay, right?”

He frowns and moves his hand away. “Shit.”

I laugh slightly. “Don’t worry. Think of it as your latest interesting fact about you. Anyway... I knew.”

“Really? Fuck.” He rubs his hand over his face, looking embarrassed. “Sim said you would. Because you’re…”

“Into dick? Yeah, it does help.” I reach out and gently tug on his septum ring, which he’s put back in for the night, much to my delight. “Also, how many straight men do you know with a nose piercing?”

He rolls his eyes and bats my hand away. “You’re obsessed with my nose piercing. Do you have a fetish or something?”

“Hardly a fetish if I only like it on you.” He quickly averts his eyes and I see that adorable blush creeping up his neck again. “Soooo… you and Sim talk about me often?”

“What? No. I mean, you’re my teammate so sometimes we…” I grin and he kicks me under the table. “Dickhead.”

“I’m glad you chose me for your sad drinking session, Perce. You’re a fun drunk.”

“When I’m not telling you my sob story?” I shrug. “I don’t know why but I just never really… let go. I’m the most boring gay ever. No booze, no drugs, no casual sex.”

“Sounds dreadful, but I promise you’re not boring. You’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met. And there’s plenty of time for all that stuff. If you want it, that is.” I hold up my glass. “To drinking and fucking our worries away.”

He laughs. “I am not toasting to that.”

“Suit yourself.“ I down the rest of my drink and lean over, leaning in close to him. “Know what I’ve just remembered? I owe you a dance.”

“You…” He looks down at my lips and my breath catches slightly. “Yeah. A dance.”

“And I am a man of my word, but first…” I briefly bump my nose into his, then move away, standing up. “I need to piss.”

He sits back, opening his mouth to say something but then changing his mind. I walks over to the bathrooms and can’t help imagining Duke’s face if he ever found out Percy and I were banging each other’s brains out on the regular. His new star signing and the bane of his existence.

Then I remember I just heard the worst combination of words in the English language. “ _No casual sex_.”

God is testing me.

\-------------------------

Thank fuck for VIP toilets. I have the whole bathroom to myself when I arrive, so I shut myself in a cubicle and close the toilet seat, sitting down and getting the bag I had delivered earlier out of my jacket pocket. The booze is making me sleepy, so I’m hoping some coke will perk me up a bit as I don’t want to leave Percy any time soon. I do a couple of keys, then wipe my nose thoroughly before putting it away and standing up, flushing the toilet in case anyone is listening.

I open the cubicle door and jump out of my skin when I see Percy leaning against the sinks, watching me.

“Shit!” I clasp my hand to my chest, then laugh. “When did you sneak in?”

“I uhm…” He trails off and I notice how intensely he’s staring at me. I swallow slightly.

“You okay, Perce?”

I watch his hand grip on the sink he’s leaning on, as if he’s trying not to move, then look back at his face. He still isn’t saying anything, so I lean against the side of the cubicle, tilting my head and grinning.

“Penny for your thou—”

I don’t finish my sentence before he moves, stepping towards me and grabbing the lapels of my jacket, crowding me back into the cubicle and reaching back to lock the door behind us.

Before I can process what’s happening, he backs me into the cubicle wall, leans down and crushes his mouth against mine. It’s rough and it’s frantic, like he’s been holding back for years, and for a moment I can’t process anything else except: He’s kissing me. _Percy is kissing me._

Briefly, the reasons we shouldn’t be doing this shoot through my brain. We’re wasted. He’s upset. We’re teammates. _We’re in a toilet cubicle._ But then Percy’s mouth opens against mine, his tongue brushes against my lips, and all of these reasons just seem to… turn into smoke and disappear. 

I sigh, my hands moving to his hair as I stand on tiptoes slightly and open my own mouth, my tongue meeting his and tasting the leftover tang of beer and tequila. He groans quietly and I lose my head, pushing back against him until his back hits the opposite wall. His hands are moving all over me now, like he can’t decide where to touch first. I want his hands on my skin more than I’ve ever wanted anything, so I take the initiative and take one of my hands from his hair to grab one of his wrists, pushing his hand under my shirt.

The touch feels like electricity, and as he slides his hand over my stomach and up to my chest, an embarrassingly loud moan escapes my lips. He pulls away slightly to look at me, already looking completely wrecked.

“Are… are you ok?”

“Wh-what…” I’ve forgotten how to form sentences. “Touching me. Keep… doing that.”

He stares at me and I grab his chin, pulling him in for another kiss, biting on his lip.

“Christ, Monty…” His hands slide all the way around me to my back, his nails digging into my spine. “We should…”

He sounds like he’s about to suggest something sensible. Like slowing down. Or moving this elsewhere. Or worst of all, _stopping_. I’m far too turned on to even consider any of these options now, so I move closer, pressing my hips against his. We both gasp and I let go of his chin and bury my face in his neck.

“I want you.” My voice is muffled against his throat, but I hear his breath catch. “Right now.”

He pauses then nods, pulling his hands out from under my shirt and moving them to my belt. I mouth at his neck as he makes quick work of undoing it, then moves on to the button and zip on my jeans. The moment his hand slides into the waistband of my underwear, I hear the door of the bathroom slam open. We both freeze. We hear someone go into the cubicle which is two down from us, and I look up at Percy. His eyes are hooded and his breath is shaky. I can still feel how stiff he is against my hip.

I smirk slightly and put a finger to my mouth, signalling for him to keep quiet. I pull his hand out of the front of my jeans and his eyes widen as I grab him by the waist, shifting him over to the toilet seat and pushing him until he’s sitting down.

“Monty, what—” He whispers but I cut him off by climbing into his lap and straddling him, my legs on either side of his.

I grin and start fiddling with the button on the front of his trousers. He looks shocked for a second, but the moment he realises I’m struggling slightly, he quickly tries to help. Eventually I get to what I was looking for and when my hand meets his skin, I smother his gasp with a kiss. We keep kissing, messily, as he mirrors me, putting his hand back where it was before we were so rudely interrupted. My mouth drops open, and I bite back a moan. I’m not letting anything ruin this, especially not some bloke taking a piss ten feet away hearing us and getting security.

We quickly find a rhythm, and I know I’m not going to last long, with our hands moving against each other like this and both of us either gasping into each other’s mouths, or biting our lips, trying to be as silent as possible (we’re mostly successful but I’m grateful that the club’s music is so loud that you can still hear it pounding throughout the bathroom). I hear a flush as our uninvited guest finishes up, exiting his cubicle and going to wash his hands.

Percy presses his mouth against my neck, and I feel his teeth scrape against a particularly sensitive spot. Without meaning to, I let out a long groan. Percy immediately pulls back and claps his hand over my mouth, wide-eyed. I hear the hand dryer go on, and the door swing open, so I grab Percy’s hand and pull it away. I look him dead in the eye and put two of his fingers into my mouth, sucking on them gently.

He gasps and immediately goes over the edge, and within a few seconds I’m right there with him. It’s overwhelming, and fantastic, and I lean my forehead against Percy’s, our eyes locking as we both come apart.

Eventually the feeling subsides, I take his hand from my mouth and we’re left tangled together, cheek to cheek and gathering our senses.

“Jesus fucking Christ”, I mumble after a couple of minutes. Percy seems to hum in agreement but doesn’t say anything. I gently bite him on the cheek, then lean over and grab some toilet paper to attempt to clean us up. Percy watches me and slowly his expression shifts, from dazed to tense. He reaches down to fix himself into his trousers.

“Monty, this was…” He takes a deep breath. “This was a bad idea.”

“Well yeah…” I sit back to do up my jeans too, giving him a look. “That’s what made it so hot though, right?”

“I’m drunk.”

“So am I, darling.” I throw the toilet roll in the bin next to us, then slide my hands back into his hair. “Come on... we both know that was inevitable. I’ve wanted that since the moment we met. Haven’t you?”

I pull him in and kiss him. He lets me then pulls away slightly, looking into my eyes as if he’s trying to figure something out. Suddenly his brow furrows.

“You’re high.” I flinch slightly, which seems to confirm his suspicions. “You’re… were you doing coke before I came in here?”

“Percy, it’s…” I shrug slightly. “Come on, it’s a night out. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not to you! _Fuck_.” He grabs my thighs and lifts me off of him, I stand up and wobble slightly, ending up leaning against the wall as he tries to fix his shirt, then runs his hands through his hair. “Monty, this is not okay!”

“Wh— Percy you kissed _me_! Jesus, we were just having fun! Getting off!”

He scowls at me. “That’s all it was?”

“Well! I don’t know! You fancy me, I fancy you, we’re both available. What’s the big deal?” I don’t know why I’m saying all this. I feel buzzed. And strange. I can still feel his teeth on my neck and feel his hand around me and nothing either of us is saying makes sense anymore. “Perce…”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not ‘Perce’. And this isn’t…” He looks around him. “This isn’t me! I’m starting on the biggest opportunity of my life, and because of you, I’m… “

He trails off and I swallow. “Because of me, you’re what?”

“I need to go.” He shakes his head and pushes past me, unlocking the door. He quickly glances around to check we’re alone before heading out and I grab his arm.

“Percy, I’m…”

I don’t know what to say, so I just stare at him for a second, hoping it’s enough. He takes a deep breath, then shakes me off, walking out of the bathroom. I sit back down on the toilet seat with a thud.

\-------------------------

After trying to compose myself, washing my hands and attempting to fix my hair, I head back to the bar and immediately down two more shots in quick succession. I briefly look around for Percy, but I know he’ll be long gone by now.

Fuck this.

I stagger outside to find a cab, shoving someone out of the way to climb into the first one I see. They start to complain before noticing my face, and immediately whip out their phone instead to take a photo. They get a rather charming shot of me flipping them off before I slam the door and give the driver my address.

I pull out my phone from my pocket and try to focus my increasingly blurry vision on finding my chat with Percy.

**_Me:_ ** _are u home?_

I wait a couple of minutes and he doesn’t reply. I rub my face and bounce my knee impatiently, before very slowly typing out another message, trying not to misspell anything.  
  


**_Me:_ ** _u could at least lemme know ur not dead in a ditch xxx_

 **_Percy:_ ** _i’m alive. and home. please tell me you are too_

 **_Me_ ** _: in a taxi_

 **_Percy:_ ** _good. goodnight monty_

 **_Me:_ ** _wait I’m sorry im really sorry. i thought you wanted it or else I would have stopped_

 **_Percy:_ ** _jesus that’s not it! i wanted it but I shoudn’t have done that! i cant afford to be reckless like you monty._

_i can’t get high and hook up with people in club toilets, its not who i am_

**_Me:_ ** _and that’s who i am right?? fuck you_

_sorry_

_it doesn’t have 2 be like that, we could be something_

**_Percy:_ ** _you’re wasted. you don’t know what you want and you’re not okay_

 **_Me:_ ** _you’re wrong, I know I want you_

 **_Percy:_ ** _i can’t. it’s not happening again monty. i’m sorry. I can’t throw all this away for you, i just can’t  
  
_

I stare at that message, feeling my stomach sink like I’ve swallowed a ton of bricks. He doesn’t want me. It was just a stupid flirtation and he’s upset and he was working out his frustration. I was his rock bottom. I don’t reply and another text eventually pops up.  
  


**_Percy:_ ** _i really am sorry. please just get some sleep_

 **_Me:_ ** _goodnight percy  
_

I send that last message and throw my phone into the other seat. It bounces into the car door and slides into a gap out of sight. I see the driver scowl at me in his rear-view mirror and I glare straight back until he looks away again. I sink back in my seat and rest my forehead against the window, trying to shake off the image of Percy’s disappointed face.

\-------------------------

When I get home, I grab a half empty bottle of vodka from my bar and go to get my phone from my jacket. It’s not there. Fuck. I take a swig of vodka and start searching my apartment for a phone. Any phone. I shove my hand in the back of the sofa and pull out an iPhone. It’s switched on and somehow has 20% battery. Perfect.

I start looking for my sister’s number and stagger into the bathroom for a piss. I manage to trip up over my own foot and after the world’s clumsiest, longest fall, I end up arse first in my huge bath tub. Also perfect.

I take another swig and dial Felicity’s number. She answers after a few rings. She always answers.

“Monty, it’s 2am.” Whoops. “You better be dead or at least dying.”

“Second one. I fucked up.”

“Of course you did.” I hear her groan. “How drunk are you? Are you home? Do I need to get anyone?”

“I’m home. I’m… in the bath.” I tap the porcelain. “It’s dry though, don’t worry. No drowning tonight.”

“I’m glad to hear it. What happened, Monty?”

“Eehhhh. Percy.” I let go a dramatic sigh. “I ruined things with Percy.”

“ _Percy_? There are things with Percy? Monty, why are there things with Percy? I specifically told you not to—”

“Sleep with teammates! I know! But I think… fuck Feli, I think I actually like him.” I groan. “Oh I hate this. I don’t want this.”

There’s a long pause. “So, you like him? Is that the fuck up?”

“No, we wanked each other off in the toilets at the club.”

“Monty, Jesus _Christ._ What is wrong with you? Is that what you do with people you ‘like’?” I hear her mumbling something incoherent under her breath, then she continues. “I swear to God, you live on another planet.”

“I know, okay? I’m gross! He’s this gorgeous, sweet, lovely perfect man and I’m just this mess who straddles him in toilets and gives him all my best porno moves, coked off my tits.” I swig the vodka again. “Oh god, I actually sucked on his fingers.”

“I am five seconds away from hanging up.”

“But he liked it! He definitely liked it and…” I whine. “Felicity, why can’t this just be a nice thing? He likes me. I like him. We… talk and stuff. He’s single! I wouldn’t even have to be his side piece like I am with Jeanne, it could be—”

She cuts me off. “Did you just say Jeanne?”

I pause. “No?”

“Henry Montague. If you are sleeping with Jeanne Bourbon, I swear to God…”

“I… I will not speak another word without my lawyer present.” I hear the unmistakeable sound of her moving the phone away from her face so that she can scream. “Felicity, listen…”

“No, _you_ listen. I have tried my absolute best to keep all of your shit under wraps. And you repay me by _fucking your manager’s wife_ and giving your teammates hand jobs in public. I can’t do this anymore, Monty!”

“Feli, I need you! Come on…”

“One more chance. You get one more fuck-up. Then I quit and you’re on your own.” I screw my eyes shut. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” I respond, so quietly I’m surprised she hears me.

“And you will not see Jeanne. Or mess around with Percy.” I go to object but she interrupts. “Just… try! For me? Please?”

“Okay. For you. I love you, Fel—”

She huffs and hangs up on me. I stare at the phone for an entire minute before smacking myself in the face with it.

“ _Fuck_.”


	5. Rainbow Laces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy and Monty decide to keep things professional. Sim remains iconic. Then an email has the potential to ruin everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to lovely [future_fae_king](https://archiveofourown.org/users/future_fae_king/pseuds/future_fae_king) for always helping me plot this fic. The next chapter will actually contain FOOTBALL so his help will be even more required.
> 
> Content warnings for this chapter: strong language, mentions of sex, mentions of drugs

**PERCY**

_“I want you. Right now.”_

I’m not going to pretend that I haven’t been constantly repeating those words in my head since last night. I barely slept after getting home from the club at about one thirty, I’d lain in bed hearing those words, still feeling the ghost of Monty’s hands on me, his mouth on mine.

 _Monty_ ’s mouth.

But then I kept picturing Monty’s eyes afterwards, his pupils dilated and unfocused, and my stomach twisted all over again.

So, as well as being hungover as fuck this morning, I’m also sleep deprived. In the interest of denying anything is wrong, however, I decide I’m still capable of going on the run I’d agreed to with Sim. Before we’ve even gone a mile, I realise this is probably my stupidest decision since… well… since last night.

I stop to lean against a wall, guzzling water and hoping my stomach stops churning. Sim takes a second to notice she’s lost me before she turns around to run back.

“Hey!” She jogs on the spot in front of me. Evidently, she still thinks she has a chance of getting me moving again. “Get moving, old man!”

“I’m…” I take a deep breath. “… six months older than you, you prick.”

“And you’re in the Premier League!” She goes to kick my shin but I’m just about capable of dodging it. “What’s up with you?”

“I’m massively hungover, okay?”

“Ha! I _knew_ it!” She finally stops jogging, pointing to me and grinning. “I knew it as soon as I saw you, I just had to see how stubborn you are.”

“You’re evil and I hate you.” I do a dramatic slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor and she rolls her eyes, sitting down next to me. “You don’t have to skip your run just because of me. Go. Leave me to die here.”

“And miss the chance to torture you? No chance.” She swigs her water and looks at me. “Seriously though, I think I’ve seen you hungover about twice in eight years. You okay?”

“Yeah. I mean… I think so.” I rub my face and sigh. “That thing about Erica yesterday shook me up more than I was expecting, I guess. Then Monty called and asked if I wanted to go out and get pissed, so…”

“Hang on, hang on, hold up. _Monty_ is the one that got you in this state?” I grimace slightly and nod. “You didn’t try and keep up with him, did you?”

“I was half pissed by the time he even got there.” I groan. “I know everyone says this when they’re hungover but—“

“Never drinking again? Gotcha. Was it fun at the time at least?”

“Yeah. I mean mostly. It was kind of…” I take another sip of my water then take a deep breath. “I _may_ have fucked up a little bit.”

She frowns at me. “Fucked up how?”

“Something happened. With Monty.” She gasps and shoves me. “Do _you want_ me to throw up on you?”

“Did you kiss him?!” I blush slightly. “Holy shit, did you _sleep_ with him?!”

“Kind of… somewhere in between.” She gapes at me. “VIP bathrooms. Cubicle. Hand job.”

She stares at me for a couple of seconds, in shock, then squeals loudly. I flinch as she throws her arms around me.

“Sim! Hangover! Vomit!”

“I’m sorry!” She pulls away and looks at me. “I’m so proud of you but so disgusted at the same time!”

I pull a face. “What’s to be proud of?”

“What do you _think, Newton_? It’s Henry Montague. You’ve been wanking over him for years and now you got to wa—”

“Let’s look at the big picture, okay? I got drunk. And hooked up with someone on a toilet.” She blinks and I groan. “Sim, this is not like me!”

“Well… no. It isn’t. And I’m a bit concerned about you, but…” She frowns. “Was it not… good? You can’t even be happy that something happened with him? You told me you had feelings for him.”

“I do! Or… I did. Fuck. I don’t know. I mean of course, it was good. Kissing him felt even more incredible than I thought it would. And his hands… I mean, I’m sure you don’t want the details, but I think I blacked out for a second.”

“Okay, well normally I wouldn’t want the details because… dicks. Ew. But it’s not every day one of us hooks up with a _celebrity_.”

“I don’t ‘hook up’ with people at _all_ , Sim. The whole night was just… not me.” I sigh, leaning my head back against the wall. “He was high. I didn’t realise until after. He was doing lines in the bathroom before I found him.”

“Ah…” She frowns, looking sympathetic. “That’s… not hot.”

“Nope. Not hot. I think… I mean I’m pretty sure he has a problem. It’s not the first time I’ve seen him high, and it’s just…” I let out a loud groan. “I’ve spent too much of my life dealing with addicts. And here I am again. I haven’t even played my first game for Wratham yet and I’m completely wrapped up in Monty and his issues.”

“Your life would be so much better if he was ugly, wouldn’t it?” I nod sadly. “So…what happened?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…. I kind of broke it off.” I frown as it suddenly hits me. “I turned down Monty.”

“Wow. Babe. You didn’t just turn him down, you… you pumped and dumped.”

I shove her and she cackles. “I really do hate you.”

“Sorry. It isn’t funny. I’m just… wow.” She sighs and bumps her shoulder into mine. “What was the last thing you said to each other?”

I take a deep breath and get my phone out of the sleeve on my arm I use for running. I press a couple of buttons and open up my text conversation with Monty, reading to her.

“I said… ‘ _you’re wasted. you don’t know what you want and you’re not okay_.’ To which he replied… “ I pause and swallow slightly before continuing. “ _’you’re wrong, I know I want you’_.”

She stares at me. “Wow.”

“And then I essentially told him I’m not throwing my career away over him and it’s never happening again.” I put the phone away and lean my head back again until it thumps pretty hard into the wall. “I feel like a complete piece of shit.”

“You did the right thing, Percy. I mean, it’s completely mental that the right thing is telling the man you’re obsessed with that he can’t be with you even though he’s equally obsessed with you and really wants to—”

“Is this meant to be helping me, Sim?”

“Yes. Sort of.” She reaches out and plays with one of my braids, smiling slightly. “He’s a mess. You deserve better.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” I close my eyes. “I need to talk to him. When we’re both sober and not… shag drunk.”

“You will. But in the meantime, I think you need to go back to bed.” She stands up and offers me her hand. “Come on.”

I let her pull me up and she drags me into a hug. I smile and squeeze her. “Sorry about the run, Simmo.”

“It’s fine. I was distracted anyway, you looked like you were about pass out.” She lets go. “I meant what I said, Newton. You did the right thing, and I’m sure he gets that.”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

She gives me a little salute and starts back on her run. I sigh and scratch my head, getting my phone back out and turning to walk (very slowly) back to my apartment. 

\-------------------------

The next day I’m feeling slightly more human, but the thought of seeing Monty at training is still making my stomach do somersaults. It’s the last training session before my debut, and after missing a week of training for my “family emergency”, I definitely can’t afford to skip it. Part of me hopes Monty has decided not to show up and I can put off this horrible awkwardness for another day, but when my taxi drops me off and I see his Porsche in the car park, the somersaults in my stomach kick into overdrive.

I get inside and go to the dressing room and Monty is stood at his locker, which _of course_ is right next to mine. I take a deep breath and walk over to unlock it. Monty glances at me and I look back, my eyes widening slightly when I see a faint bruise on his neck. Fuck. I quickly look away.

“Morning…” he says quietly.

“Morning. You okay?” I pull my training kit out of my locker, trying not to sound as awkward as I feel.

“Yeah. Great. You?”

I hum slightly in response. This is even more tense than I anticipated. We both get dressed, and I try so hard not to look at him taking his shirt off that I think I may end up with eye strain. Eventually we’re both dressed and I look at the time on my phone. We have ten minutes until we have to be on the pitch. Ten minutes of… this.

I look back at Monty and he’s also staring at his phone, chewing on his bottom lip. He notices me staring (yep I can’t even deny it, this is some serious staring) and looks up, catching my eye. He frowns slightly.

“Listen, Perce.” He flinches slightly. “Sorry. Percy. Do you…” He looks around. “Can I borrow you for a sec?”

I look around too, thankfully no one seems to be paying attention to us. I scratch my head.

“Uhm…”

“To talk! Just to talk.” He runs his hand through his hair. “I swear.”

My dreams of not having to face up to this any time soon are quickly being dashed to pieces, but we really do need to talk. I nod and close my locker. He does the same and walks out into a hallway which seems quiet, leaning against the wall. I stand in front of him, keeping a reasonable distance. When he finally talks, he keeps his voice low.

“I owe you an apology. For the other night.”

I take a deep breath. “I owe you one too.”

He frowns. “What do you need to apologise for?”

“I was… not myself. I was the one who initiated… _stuff_.” He looks at the ground, suddenly unable to look me in the eye. “And then I freaked out at you. That was shitty of me. And I’m sorry.”

“You had every right to freak out at me.” He rubs his face, looking back up at me. “You were sad and drunk. I took advantage.”

“Wha— No! Monty, you don’t really think that, do you?”

“Of course! You spilled your guts to me, you… came out to me. And I go and drag you down to my level with a fucking…” He realises he’s talking louder and lowers his voice again. “Toilet hook-up. It was seedy. You’re not like that.” He swallows before he continues. “You’re not like me.”

Christ. He looks… sad. I wasn’t expecting this, and I have no clue how to respond. We stare at each other for a minute before he sighs, leaning his head back against the wall.

“We’re teammates. Colleagues. It was stupid and reckless and… I’m really sorry about the coke. I don’t know why I do that, it’s just…”

“I get it. It’s not like I’ve never been around people who…” He looks even more ashamed now, and my heart sinks. “It’s fine. It’s none of my business what you do for fun.”

“No. I guess not.” He pauses. “And uhm… if I texted you anything weird, please ignore it. I’ve lost my phone again and it’s all a bit of a blur, but I can only assume I was disgusting.”

My heart skips slightly as I picture another one of his messages.

 _‘We could be something_ ’.

“Yeah. Of course. Already forgotten, don’t worry about it.” He looks slightly relieved and I force a smile. “So we’re okay?”

“Yeah. Yes! We’re good. Of course we are.” He awkwardly reaches out and taps my arm. “We know each other’s deepest darkest secrets, after all. We kind of have to stay friends.” I frown and he grimaces. “Too soon?”

“A bit, yeah. But I expect nothing less.”

He smiles at me, pushing a stray piece of hair out of his eyes, and it takes every ounce of strength I have not to push him against that wall and kiss him all over again. Why did he have to be so fucking beautiful? Am I being punished for something?

“We should get back,” I say, before I can do anything stupid. “I need to train my arse off if I’m gonna be ready for Saturday.”

“Pshht, you’ll be perfect. Football is easy. Just get the ball to me and I’ll score some goals.” I laugh. “People just like to overcomplicate it.”

“You’re a prick.”

“I know.” He stands up straight and sighs. “Thank you. For not… making it _too_ weird.”

I shrug. “I don’t really have a lot of choice.”

He watches me for a couple of seconds, then shakes it off, walking back to the locker room. I wait a few seconds, so it doesn’t seem too obvious, rubbing my hand over my face and groaning slightly, before I follow him.

\-------------------------

I throw myself into training, grateful for the distraction. Thankfully, I don’t get paired with Monty, and we manage to keep a respectable distance between us without too much effort. After it’s finished, I head straight out of the stadium still in my kit. A journey home stinking of sweat is currently preferable to having to shower anywhere near Monty today.

I get home and start stripping off for a shower when I hear my phone buzz. I pick it up and frown when I see an email from an address I don’t recognise.

> **_From:_** _anon56272@mail.me_
> 
> **_To:_ ** _percy.newtonWU10@gmail.com_
> 
> **_Subject:_ ** _something you might wanna see…_
> 
> **_Attachments:_ ** _screenshot_56.png, screenshot_57.png, bank.txt_
> 
> _If u don’t want these released to the press, pay £50,000 into the attached bank details within 48 hours. If u contact police I will release immediately_

I feel the blood drain from my face. I drop down on my sofa and open the attachments. Screenshots of mine and Monty’s text conversation about our hook-up. About his drug use. About everything. I guess somebody found his phone.

I immediately go into my messages, scrolling back until I can find another thread from one of Monty’s back up phones, from the day we met. I stare at his name on the contacts for a full minute, before pressing call. He answers almost immediately.

“Percy?”

“Fuck. You have this phone. Good.” I take a deep breath. “We have a problem.”

There’s a long pause. “Did you get it too?”

\-------------------------

We agree to meet in a quiet pub near my apartment. I show up before Monty and he arrives incognito, wearing what appear to be the biggest sunglasses in existence and a hoodie which he has pulled over his hair. Ordinarily, I’d say he was being his usual overdramatic self, but considering the circumstances, it’s probably for the best.

He slides into the chair opposite me and glances around before leaning over to speak to me.

“I am so… _so_ fucking sorry, Percy.”

I sigh, closing my eyes. “Monty…”

“No, don’t tell me I don’t need to apologise. Because I do.” I look up at him. “I’m stupid. And reckless. And usually, it only affects me…. and okay, perhaps my sister. But now I’ve dragged you into it and… _fuck_.” He sits back, pulling the hoodie down so he can run his hands through his hair. “And now I’ve totally ruined everything.”

“I’ve told you already. What happened at the club was down to both of us.”

“Getting drunk and leaving my phone in a taxi was not ‘down to both of us’! How many phones have you ever lost, Percy?” I don’t answer. “Exactly. I have three backups. _Three._ I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You really do have a problem with losing phones.” He nods and I reach over to take off his sunglasses. He squints at me. “Okay yes, you’re a fucking idiot. But it’s happened and we can’t go back in time. We can deal with this.”

“Can we? I don’t think I can deal with anything right now.” He holds up his hand, it’s shaking. “I’m a mess. And I want a drink. But I know you’ll judge me if I order a vodka.”

I frown. “Is that what you think? That I’m judgemental?”

“No! I don’t know!” He puts his hand back down then drops his head onto the table, hiding his face in his arms. “Tell me what to do”, he says, the sound muffled behind his jacket.

“I can’t tell you what to do.”

He looks up at me, pouting. “Pleeeeaaassee? You’re so clever. And brilliant. And… calm! How are you so calm?”

“I’m none of those things. I’m screaming inside. And if the last few days have proven anything, it’s that I’m far from ‘clever’.” He flinches just slightly at this and tries not to look hurt. “Sorry. Just… I think there’s a fairly simple solution.”

“Is there?” He straightens back up, watching me for a minute. Eventually he takes a deep breath. “We should…. we should come out. But on our own terms. Take the power away from this prick.”

My eyes widen. “What? No! Fuck that. I’m not coming out.”

He lets go a long breath, relieved. “Oh, thank _GOD_.”

I can’t help but laugh slightly. “Look, I’m not… in any way ashamed of who I am. But this is _football_. I know they want us to buy into this ‘rainbow laces’ bullshit but I don’t. I don’t want to be treated like a leper by this industry. I don’t want to be a martyr when I know they’re not going to protect me. I just want to… be good at my job.”

“I get that.” He scratches his head. “I mean… I don’t really give a shit about my job. But I’m not going to be anyone’s role model. I’m a mess. I’m not ready to… not be a mess.”

“Monty, you’re not—”

“We’re being blackmailed about my sex life and my cocaine habit because I got drunk and left my unlocked phone in a taxi.”

I pause. “Okay, you are a _bit_ of a mess. But you’re not a bad person.”

He shrugs, looking defeated. “I’m not sure that’s true. But thank you.” We just look at each other for a while, not knowing what to say. Eventually he clears his throat. “So, what’s this simple solution?”

“We pay them.”

He scowls. “He wants a hundred grand, Percy.”

“Just fifty from me, actually…” He rolls his eyes. “Come on, Monty. The entire world knows how much you earn.”

“That’s hardly the point. It’s the principle.” I go to open my mouth and he cuts me off before I can say anything. “I _do_ have principles. Before you start.”

“Well, what are our other options? One… we let him release them. Two… we come out before he has a chance.” He shakes his head. “Three… we go to your sister….”

“ _No._ No… we’re not involving Felicity.” He avoids eye contact with me, playing with the sleeve on his hoodie. “We’re dealing with this ourselves, no matter what we decide.”

“Okay. Well…” I sit back. “My vote is we just pay. Forget all this ever happened. And get on with our lives.” He swallows and internally, I kick myself. “That’s not what I meant.”

“No. You’re right.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do it. Fuck it. We have more important things to worry about.”

I force a smile. I’m relieved. But I still can’t believe this is actually happening to me. Monty pulls his phone out of his pockets and frowns at the screen, before putting it away.

“What’s wrong?”

“My father. He’s called me ten times already and I would rather throw myself in front of a car than talk to him today.”

I frown. I know I shouldn’t get involved but if I had parents that were trying desperately to get hold of me… “Are you sure? It might be a family thing…”

“It’s not a family thing. Trust me.” He curls his lip. “I didn’t even know he had this number.”

“Monty… have you ever considered getting one of those chains you put around your neck? Hanging your phone on it so you don’t lose it?” He laughs slightly. “It might kill your vibe when you’re trying to get off with people, but I think it might be worth looking into.”

“You’re a prick.”

“I know.” I sigh, standing up. He frowns at me. “Sorry. I need to go. I haven’t even showered since training.”

“That’s pretty gnarly. You’re lucky you’re pretty.” I can’t help but grin at that and I pause, before leaning down and quickly kissing him on the cheek. He blushes slightly. “What was that for?”

“Nothing, I just… everything will be okay. We’ll fix this. So please don’t hate yourself too much. And no throwing yourself in front of cars.”

“Okay… I’ll try.” He smiles, then narrows his eyes at me. “You stink. Leave. I’ll make some calls.”

I give him a little salute and do as I’m told, heading out of the pub. I glance back and see him pull his hoodie back up and put his sunglasses back on, sinking low into his seat.

If I don’t start thinking about football soon, this weekend is going to be a fucking disaster.


	6. You're Missing Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Percy's first game with Wratham United, but Monty is the man of the match.
> 
> After that, it's time for some ~realisations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mega thanks to Milo for their help with this chapter, which would have been an even bigger struggle without him because **SPORTS**!! Also full credit to him for a certain football chant which made my entire weekend....
> 
> Content warnings: Strong language, sexual references, drug use, mild homophobia, Richard Peele... the usual.

**MONTY**

**_Jeanne:_ ** _you better have a good reason for ignoring me u English bastard_

_… montague?_

_are you unwell?_

_you better be unwell because I am HORNY and I will never forgive u for this_

Our match kicks off at four today. It’s currently twelve and I’m lying on one of the black leather sofas in my penthouse, scrolling through Jeanne’s messages and back up to some of our old, less angry exchanges. She’s terrible at dirty texts — but very good at taking dirty pictures. I find one in particular that I treasured fondly at the time; she’s sitting on the bathroom counter of a hotel we were due to meet at later that night, wearing lingerie she bought with Duke’s credit card earlier that day and taking a picture in the mirror. The lingerie was pretty much wrecked twenty minutes after I arrived.

Simpler times.

I sort of miss her but reading through these messages isn’t stirring anything in me like it usually would. Perhaps I’m broken. Or perhaps…

I go back to my messages and find Percy’s. We’ve not texted in a while, and when we did, they were sporadic, due to my innate fucking inability to keep the same phone for more than a week. Sadly, they’re not remotely dirty. ‘ _I’m in the queue at Starbucks and there’s a guy in front of me wearing a Monty shirt xx_ ’, or ‘ _Shawn Mendes – gay right? My gaydar is shit xx_ ’, and the occasional message about Taylor Swift, which is about as far from dirty as it gets.

Reading them gives me a warm feeling in the pit of my stomach. If by some miracle, Percy ever sent me a dirty picture, I predict I’d die of a stroke.

I switch to Instagram and find his profile. His latest photo is his first press picture for Wratham. His braids are piled on top of his head and he’s wearing a headband the same colour as our pink kit. He’s doing a serious face (they always ask us to look serious), but it looks like a giddy smile is trying to make its way to the surface. He’s so fucking adorable it makes my head spin.

I close my eyes and think of his face close to mine, in that cursed bathroom at Pearl, biting his lip and staring into my eyes as he _–_

There’s a knock at my door and I look up, frowning. My building has a doorman so someone making it up to my penthouse unexpectedly is almost unheard of. I shake my shoulders off slightly, trying to snap out of my Percy daydream, and go over to open it.

Richard fucking Peele.

I scowl. “How did you get up here?”

He grins at me. “Your doorman is a big City fan.”

“And that’s why I never talk to people about football.”

He smirks and tries to look over my shoulder. “You got company? Is that why you’re being so shitty?”

“I’m being…” I move to block his view. “… shitty because I don’t want you to be here.”

He frowns, looking genuinely surprised. Christ, he’s an idiot. He leans against the doorframe and looks me up and down, running one hand through his hair.

“Come on, Henry.” I glare at him. “I’ve come all this way… and you look hot…”

“I always look hot.” He rolls his eyes but doesn’t disagree. I fold my arms and watch him for a moment, thinking. Thinking that… I want Percy. _Badly_. But it can’t happen. Richard is… here. That’s usually enough for me.

“Fuck it.”

I grab him by his shirt and pull him inside, shoving the door closed behind him. He grins and I pull him close to kiss him. He shoves his tongue in my mouth almost immediately and I grimace slightly as I recognise the taste of the Monster energy drinks he’s always chugging like he’s a teenager.

I let him back me towards the couch, his hands in my hair, and we fall down onto it with a thud, him landing on top of me. I close my eyes when he starts kissing my neck and I try to replace the scent of Richard’s obnoxious aftershave with my memory of Percy’s calming, woody scent. Wondering what he’d feel like on top of me, whether he’d be frantic like he was at the club, or gentle like that kiss on my cheek the other day…

Richard bites down on my neck and I wince, snapping out of it and pushing his face away.

“For the twentieth time, don’t _fucking_ bite me.”

“Oh, you love it.”

Fuck this. I’m not in the mood and increasingly, it seems Monty Junior isn’t feeling it either. “I’ve changed my mind. Get out. Now.” I push him off me and he lands on the floor next to sofa with a very undignified crash.

“Ow! Dickhead”

He climbs up onto his feet and I sigh, laying back and rubbing my face. “Just leave. I have a match today, I don’t have time for this.”

“Since when do you not make time for a pre-match fuck?” I look up at him, watching him try to compose himself. Like he still has a chance.

“Since today. Go or I’ll call security. I doubt all the staff in this building are City fans.”

He glares at me, trying to hide the tent in his trousers, but I just stare him out until he finally huffs, heading to the door.

“You’re such a twat.” He points back at me. “You’re missing out.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Be sure to watch the game later!”

He pulls the door open and walks out, slamming it shut behind him. I groan and look around for my phone. Just one text can’t hurt, can it? We’re friends after all.

**_Me:_ ** _ready to kick some butt #4? x_

 **_Percy:_ ** _definitely #3, when I’ve stopped doing nervous shits x_

I laugh and take a deep breath. I can do this. We can be friends. Best buddies, maybe. Just as long as he doesn’t… look at me.

Fuck me, I wish he was straight.

\-------------------------

Any excitement I have for actually playing a game only tends to kick in when I’m standing in the tunnel, hearing the crowd as I stretch and get ready to head onto the pitch. I feel the familiar buzz start to course through my veins, which kicks up a notch when I glance over my shoulder to see that Percy has taken his place behind me. He looks nervous, chewing on his bottom lip. I look forward again, smirking.

“Pink is your colour, Newton.”

“Thanks. I hate it.” I hear him take a deep breath. “Does this get any less scary?”

“What’s scary about this? I’m uncomfortable when there _aren’t_ thousands of people screaming at me.” He snorts and I look back at him again. “It’ll be fine. You’ll smash it.”

“Can I borrow… five percent of your confidence?”

“I’d lend you some, but it’s all bravado. I’m actually a nervous wreck.” He rolls his eyes and I lower my voice slightly, moving closer to him. “Have you heard anything else about…?”

He frowns. “Not really… what I want to be thinking about right now, Monty. But no. Have you?”

“No. Nothing.”

It’s the truth. I keep refreshing my emails, refusing to believe it’s the end of it. I’m one hundred grand poorer and I still feel like my life is about to be turned upside down any moment. But Percy’s right, there are currently more pressing matters at hand.

Someone shouts, and it’s our cue to walk onto the pitch. I look forward and frown as I feel something poke at the back of my thigh, I glance back and see that it’s Percy’s hand, stretching out his fingers in invitation. I look up at his face and he’s worrying his bottom lip with his teeth again, looking even more anxious.

I quickly look around us before reaching back, grabbing his hand and quickly squeezing it. He squeezes back appreciatively, his thumb gently stroking my knuckle before he pulls his hand back again, as if it had never happened.

I swallow hard, then take a deep breath before we start walking through the tunnel. I squint as we step onto the pitch and the Wratham fans erupt. I can’t fight the grin that spreads across my face as I’m finally back in my comfort zone. My little (well, not so little) happy place. I feel Percy’s presence behind me, and it anchors me. I wonder absently if me being so close is doing the same for him, as we line up to shake the hands of the Waburn City players.

As usual, I start to get agitated in the build-up before kick-off. The team spreads out and Percy spares me one more final glance, a nervous smile playing on his lips, before he heads over to his position. I stretch and jog on the spot, trying to focus my excess energy on not staring after him.

I make the mistake of glancing up at the big screen, where the cameras are following him as he does his own warm-ups. Percy stretches, his leg muscles flexing and all the blood leaves my head. In the moments before the first whistle blows, I can sense this is going to be a very long match.

* * * * * * * * * * *

It takes me ten minutes of aimless sprinting before my focus finally sharpens, as well as my ever present need to show off. From what I’ve seen, Percy is playing well. Very well. And the knowledge that this is the first time he’s seen me play for real is working as great motivation when I see my first opportunity for a shot at goal.

The defender marking me is the shortest on Waburn’s team, and still almost a head taller than me. Thankfully, I make up for my height by being one of the fastest on the pitch in every game, and I use this to my advantage as Davis (pretty speedy himself), snags a ball from an attacker and glances over at me.

I nod slightly across the pitch to Walker, who is somehow not being covered. Davis immediately picks up the signal and fires it over to him. I take the opportunity to sprint in his direction, leaving the Waburn defender in the dust. Walker notices and volleys it over to me. I leap up and head the ball as hard as I can towards the goal. It skims past the goalkeeper’s hand by about a centimetre and hits the corner of the net as I crash into another defender.

The crowd goes apeshit and I recover myself, pushing the defender away and standing up straight. I smirk and open my arms out in a huge, arrogant shrug before my teammates pile onto me. I laugh and let myself get dragged to the ground.

When they finally let go and I stand up, I notice Percy has kept his distance, but he grins at me, offering me a salute. I grin back, running my hand through my hair. Headers always mess it up.

**_Wratham United 1 – 0 Waburn City_ **

* * * * * * * * * * *

We concede a goal near the end of the first half. Our defence is unusually sloppy, and a pretty average shot at goal makes it past our keeper. I roll my eyes, feeling the crowd’s frustration, seeking out Percy’s face across the pitch.

He looks flustered, but a thousand times more confident than he did before we walked out. He’s managing to chalk up an impressive amount of possession and has won some tricky tackles. I want nothing more than to run over and tell him how well he’s doing, but that would be both patronising, and slightly counter productive when there are goals to score.

The ball nearly reaches me a couple of times in the next ten minutes, but Waburn’s defence is strong, and my speed can only get us so far. I watch as the ball reaches Percy again and he’s tackled before he can pass it up the field. It’s a dodgy tackle and I wince as he drops to the floor. The whistle blows and the ref runs over. I look up at the screen to get a better view and I see Percy shaking his head, but he’s fine, pulling himself up immediately. I let go a breath I didn’t realise I was holding, and the referee calls for a free kick.

Everyone positions themselves for the kick and I stretch my arms across my chest, looking up at the crowd in our end of the stadium, grinning up at them, drinking in the excitement. (I really, genuinely, don’t give a shit about football, no matter what my teammates say… but moments like this are undeniably good).

The whistle blows and I run over to take the kick, I pass the ball diagonally to Davis who’s ahead, then he passes it forward. I sprint over and catch up with it, out-running my mark and boot it at the goal from just past the centre circle. The goalkeeper dives to block it but it bounces off his arm, ricocheting into the side of the net.

The team surges at me again and I laugh, dodging out of the way and sprinting over to the corner of the pitch to skid on my knees and blow kisses to the crowd.

**_Wratham United 2 – 1 Waburn City_ **

* * * * * * * * * * *

Half-time is uneventful. I down a shitload of water and ignore Duke as he tries to give us one of his extremely un-motivational pep talks. Percy sits next to me on the bench but purposefully keeps a gap between us. A few of the other lads have commended him on his playing so far, but I’ve said nothing. I want to tell him he’s amazing, that he’s smashing it, like I knew he would. But the words keep getting stuck in my throat. I try to catch his eye instead so that I can give him a supportive smile, but he listens to Duke intently, his knee bobbing up and down from a mixture of adrenaline and nerves.

When we head back to the pitch, I’m feeling distracted again.

Waburn take things up a notch in the second half, and things get heated. Two of their players are given yellow cards and our keeper scrapes three saves in just seven minutes. I start to feel antsy when the ball hasn’t been anywhere near me for what feels like hours.

Eventually we get a corner and I feel a wave of relief, noticing Percy pushing up closer with the rest of the team. Walker takes the corner, and the ball comes straight in my direction. I take a shot but the ball ricochets on the thigh of a defender and bounces away.

I push out and back so that I’m not offside and the ball is cleared out of the box. I look over as someone passes it to Percy and he looks over at me. I frown as he quickly raises his eyebrows at me then boots it over the top of the defence in my direction, despite me being flagged by two defenders.

My heart skips as I realise what he’s doing and I manage to volley the ball straight over the keeper’s head into the net, before he’s even had time to dive for it.

So _this_ is why people love this game.

The crowd erupts and I turn around, looking for Percy as Walker runs over to pull me into an aggressive hug. The rest of the team grab onto me and I grin, squeezing them then quickly shoving them away so that I can look up at the crowd and wink. I turn around and Percy has reached me. I quickly go to pull him into a hug and he throws himself into it at first, then stiffens the moment my arms wrap around him.

The hug immediately turns awkward, as if we’ve both forgotten how men are supposed to touch each other. After a couple of seconds, he gives me a very hetero pat on the back, and we break apart. I give him a look and he grins sheepishly at me before running away back down the pitch.

I stare after him for a second, before I remember the cameras, and the crowd, and I shake it off, wiping my sweating face with the bottom of my shirt and heading back to my position.

The rest of the game passes by in a blur. There are no more goals from either side, and my hattrick has inspired a new Monty themed chant in the crowd.

_“Heeeeennnnryyyyy Montaguee  
Every match he scores two  
What he lacks in height, he makes up for in fight  
And he's four inches longer than you.”_

I dance along to it, encouraging them, before Davis shoves me with a grin and tells me to stop being a dickhead.

When the final whistle blows, I’m ready to collapse, and I do as much, falling onto the grass and laying back, stretching my limbs out and closing my eyes, before a barrage of empty water bottles from my teammates start bouncing off of my chest.

**_FINAL SCORE:  
Wratham United 3 – 1 Waburn City_ **

\-------------------------

After the game, I’m dragged straight into post-match interviews, which I loathe. I smile and fire out some vaguely witty comments until they’re finally over and I can head back to the locker rooms. Before I can reach the showers, the team converges on me and Walker gives me a far too aggressive slap on the back.

“So where are we going tonight, man of the match? You’re buying of course.”

“Hang on, I score three goals and I’m still buying? You lot really are tight.”

He shrugs, “Tradition, innit. So… Pearl?”

“No! No.” He gives me a look. “Not there. Don’t fancy it.” I look around for Percy but I don’t spot him, he must be in the showers. “What about The Box?”

“You and the fucking Box, it’s weird in there. Birds hanging from the ceilings and shit.”

“If I’m buying, I’m choosing the club.” I grab my towel out of my locker. “We all going?”

“Course we are”, he says. “Except Newton, I think he’s a bible basher or something.”

My stomach drops. “Bible basher?”

“Says he doesn’t drink. He’s just gonna ‘take it easy’. Fucking gay, if you ask me.” I glare at him before I can stop myself, but he doesn’t even notice. “His loss, we’re gonna get smashed.”

“Yeah… his loss.”

* * * * * * * * * * *

The Box is heaving, which is how I like it, and I can’t make it ten feet without someone offering to buy me a drink because of the match. I turn them down as politely as possible, telling them I can more than afford it myself, and that they should get themselves a drink on my tab (I’ll regret that tomorrow, but currently I can’t bring myself to give a shit.)

Percy really didn’t come. His first game, and he skips the celebrations. Either that night at Pearl has really put him off drinking for life, or he’s absolutely desperate to avoid me. I don’t like either of those options particularly much, so I try my best to push him out of my brain entirely. My attempt lasts five minutes.

I down a shot at the bar, then lean against it and pull out my phone.

 **_Me:_ ** _why aren’t you here, idiot?_

 **_Percy:_ ** _hi, monty. having a nice time?_

 **_Me:_ ** _not really. the boys think ur a jesus freak cos you don’t drink_

 **_Percy:_ ** _the boys are fucking morons_

 **_Me:_ ** _yep. you should still be here tho_

He doesn’t respond. I sigh and head into the bathrooms, this night is very quickly losing its shine. I head to a urinal for a piss and frown when I hear hushed voices coming from inside one of the cubicles. This either means one of two things in my experience, a badly thought-out shag, or….

“Busy, lads?” I call out, and they go silent.

I zip my jeans back up and go into the cubicle next to them, stepping up on the toilet and looking over the wall. I’m extremely unsurprised to see three of my teammates crowded around the toilet, cutting lines of coke with a gold credit card. When they see it’s just me, they break into some very sheepish grins.

“Monts! We saved you a line, it’s good shit!”

I roll my eyes slightly and hop down off the seat, about to go in when I suddenly get an image of Percy in my head. He’s looking intently into my eyes, looking flushed and dazed, then he focuses his eyes on my pupils. His face suddenly falls.

_“Are you high?”_

I freeze before I reach the cubicle door and it opens in front of me. Lucien, our goalkeeper, stares at me, looking confused.

“You not joining us, Montague?” He steps aside. “Come on, my treat!”

“No, I’m… “ I motion vaguely to the exit and he blinks at me. “Don’t really fancy it.”

Now they all stare at me.

“You… don’t fancy it? Are you okay?” I glare. “ _What?_ Come on, you have to admit this is pretty unusual…”

“Just don’t fancy getting smashed tonight, okay? I’ve decided to cut down a bit.”

“God, you sound like Newton. Fucking boring, the pair of you.” He gasps. “Oh, speaking of Newton! Did you see his Insta post? Fucking hell, someone’s in need of attention.”

I look blank. Walker laughs from behind him “You’re just jealous no one wants to pay you to get your saggy beer gut out, mate. Don’t be so bitter.”

“Fuck off.” He looks back at me. “Sure you don’t just want a quick line?”

“I’m sure. Thanks though. I’m gonna go… be fucking boring. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

He shrugs and goes back in, closing the door behind him. They couldn’t be being more obvious if they tried, but for once it’s not really my problem. I head back to bar and sit on a stool, waiting for the bartender to get to me. He does and goes slightly red when he lays eyes on me, I guess he’s only just started his shift.

“Uhm… I… hello.” I stare and he clears his throat. “Sorry, I mean… what can I get you?”

“Vodka and.. actually… you know what, can I just get a lime and soda? With ice?”

He frowns. “You sure?”

“Yes, I’m fucking sure!” He winces, going a little pale. “Shit. Sorry. People keep asking me that. Look…” I dig into my pocket and hand him over a fifty. “Here’s your tip. Just get me a lime and soda. Please.”

He brightens up considerably once he takes the note, and goes to make up my drink. I think back to what the lads were talking about in the bathroom and get my phone out again, going straight into Instagram.

The first post loads up and suddenly the world feels like it’s tipped sideways. I wobble slightly and nearly fall off my stool.

Percy’s posted a picture. It’s a sponsored post with Calvin Klein. He’s lounging on the sofa in his apartment, his jeans slung low enough to show the band of his CK briefs. He’s wearing a shirt but he’s pushing it up past his stomach, so his abs, and the tiny sprinkling of hair on his navel are on show. He’s looking away from the camera, looking serious and fucking beautiful.

I want to die.

Before I die, I realise there’s another picture and swipe onto it. The next shot is in the same pose, but Yardstick has leapt up onto his lap. She’s chewing on his shirt and he’s smiling at her, a huge, un-self-conscious, adorable smile that makes me want to crawl into my phone and kiss him until we’re both out of breath. I read the caption.

_‘Chilling out after my first match in #MyCalvins. Yardstick wanted in on the action lol (swipe) #ad’_

I’m definitely going to die.

The barman delivers me my drink and I take a sip, before taking a couple of deep breaths to compose myself, then going back into my messages. I consider laying into him for daring to ruin my life like this, but I decide I should probably play it a little cooler.

**_Me:_ ** _sponsored posts eh? you’ve really made it now x_

 **_Percy:_ ** _… oh god. how do you do it? i felt like a dickhead x_

_‘Well, you look like a fucking Adonis and I want to lick you all over until you’re a babbling mess’_ is what I _want_ to say in response. Instead I go with;

**_Me:_ ** _it suits you. maybe we’re both just dickheads_

 **_Percy:_ ** _i think we might be x_

I smile at that, and inevitably go back onto Instagram. I stare at the picture for a while, just thinking. Thinking about our tryst in the bathrooms and the way he looked at me like he wanted to eat me alive. Like he wanted me more than he’d ever wanted anything. Thinking about how he was so calm when we got those emails. How he kissed me on the cheek to make me feel better. Thinking about him holding my hand before the match today, that gentle squeeze of my fingers that gave me butterflies.

**_Me:_ ** _i miss you_

 **_Percy:_ ** _… you saw me like 2 hours ago monty x_

 **_Me_ ** _: that’s not what i meant_

I press send. Praying that he understands and that I don’t have to say anything more. I see the typing bubble pop up a couple of times, then disappear. I sip my drink, staring at my phone and willing him to answer. After five minutes there’s still nothing, so I swallow hard and lean over the bar.

“I’ll get that vodka now, please. Straight double.”

The barman nods and then my phone buzzes. I panic, almost dropping it, quickly unlocking it again to look at the screen.

**_Percy_ ** _: i miss you too_

Fuck. My heart starts pounding and I jump off my stool, pushing past the crowd and to the exit. If I’m not at his apartment within ten minutes, I’m going to explode.

I need to see him.


	7. Nothing. Everything.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monty arrives at Percy's flat, and our boys talk some things out...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERCY COMMUNICATING? In my fic? It's more likely than you think! (This is basically 6k of pretty spicy fluff and I love it)
> 
> Content warnings for this one: Sexual references, drug references, sexy times (it's what the tag NEEDS but if you want to skip it, just skip the whole second scene).
> 
> This chapter was fun!! Enjoy!!

**PERCY**

The last message on my phone was sent over twenty minutes ago. “ _i miss you too_ ”.

I’m standing in my kitchen, leaning against the counter, and eating last night’s leftover Chinese takeaway straight from the container with a fork. I’ve toggled my phone Wi-Fi on and off multiple times, trying to convince myself that Monty’s messages aren’t being delivered. Or whatever club he’s in has bad signal.

What does “I miss you” even mean, coming from Monty, anyway? Why did I immediately assume it was… romantic? Can he even _be_ romantic? Maybe an “I miss you” from Monty is equivalent to a booty call…?

No. He’s not some sort of monster incapable of human emotion. He’s _sweet._ He listens, he comforts me, sometimes he smiles at me like I’m the centre of his world.

_He misses me._

So why hasn’t he replied?

I sigh, throwing the rest of the food in the bin and the fork in the sink, deciding it’s time to at least attempt to sleep. I grab Yardstick’s food from the cupboard and fill up her bowl as she mews at me, wrapping herself around my legs. Once she starts tucking in, I head to my bedroom, when there’s a frantic sounding knock on the door. I frown, looking at my phone again, then tossing it onto the sofa.

I open the door and my stomach flips when I see Monty. He’s leaning against the doorframe, looking out of breath and flustered like he’d just run all the way up the stairs of my building. His hair is even more chaotic than usual, falling into his eyes.

I’m so shocked, I don’t say anything for a few seconds as we stare at each other. Then eventually, I break the silence with an awkward; “Hello.”

“Hi”.

He takes a deep breath, then stands up straight, moving towards me and reaching for my face, leaning up to kiss me. I almost let him, his lips getting an inch away from mine before I quickly step back, reaching out to grab his hands, moving them away from my face.

“Wait!” He immediately turns pale. “Monty, just… wait.”

“Sorry.” He steps back, pulling his hands from mine and running his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry. Shit.”

“No! Don’t be sorry, I just…“ He swallows and looks at me, his eyes wide and more intense than I’ve ever seen them. My heart skips. “You’ve been drinking. Right?”

“No. I mean… I had one shot. One. An hour ago. I haven’t been drinking. I haven’t been doing anything. I kept thinking of… your face and—”

He steps closer again, taking my hands and placing them on either side of his face, staring up at me unblinkingly.

“Look. I’m sober. I swear it, Percy.”

I look into his eyes, trying to find any signs that he’s lying. That he’s drunk, or high. But his eyes look clear, his pupils normal. I nod and he finally relaxes slightly, closing his eyes. I hesitate then gently stroke my thumb against his cheek, he leans into it slightly and lets out a long exhale.

“You didn’t reply to my message.” I say, and he laughs slightly.

“I was too busy trying to get here, dickhead.”

“I can see that.” I move one of my hands from his face and attempt to fix his hair. He looks back up at me. “Did you run the entire way?”

“The lift was taking too long, so I took the stairs. Quickly.” I smile, and he returns it with a little half-smile that makes my chest flutter. “Can I come in now, or…?”

“Yes. Sorry.” I let go of his face and step aside. “But… we should talk. We _need_ to talk.”

“Yeah.” He takes a deep breath and nods, walking past me and into the apartment, heading over to the sofa. I follow him. “You’re right. Sorry for just showing up. I just really…”

“Missed me? Yeah.” I sit down, motioning to my phone. “You mentioned it.”

He blushes slightly and sits down next to me. I don’t think I’ll ever get over the fact that I can cause Henry fucking Montague to blush. Yardstick immediately leaps into his lap and he smiles, stroking her head. “That text was pretty cheesy, wasn’t it?”

“No. I mean yes. But it was nice. And you’re right, I should have been there tonight. You were fucking incredible and I should have been celebrating with you.”

“You were incredible too!” He blurts out and I huff slightly. “Percy, I mean it! That assist was… ridiculous. I thought Duke was going to kill you when he saw you make that pass. But you fucking nailed it.”

I stare at him, then grin. “When I said we needed to talk, I didn’t mean talk about football.”

“Oh god. Gross. I’m talking about football. Voluntarily. Quick! Let’s talk about cocaine.” I feel my face fall slightly and then so does his. “Sorry. Forget I said that. I’m an idiot.”

“Monty, listen…” He nods, gently pushing the cat off his lap, then turning himself to face me and tucking his legs underneath him. He looks so sincere; so open and real, that it makes me want to cry. Instead, I take a deep breath. “I’ve spent so much of my life around people with addictions and… it consumes everyone and everything in their path. I’ve gotten out of that cycle, and I’m finally supporting myself, doing something I’m good at. Something I love.” I swallow and look away from him. “I can’t go back to it. I won’t.”

“Percy…” I stare at the carpet, but he leans over, gently taking my chin and turning my face back to his. “I don’t want you to go back to that. I want you to be happy. And I want you to make the right choice, but… I just want to say my piece first, okay?”

I frown. “Yeah. Of course.”

He lets go of my face and sits back, taking a deep breath. “I know I’m a fuck-up. And I know I’ve already managed to drag you into my shit, without even trying. And I’m so fucking sorry. But… I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t think I’ve…” He rolls his eyes slightly. “No. I _know_ I’ve never felt like this about anyone. Ever.”

“Monty…”

“No. I’m not finished. I need to get this right for once.” He closes his eyes. “You make me want to be a less shitty person. I want to stop… fucking everything up. I want to be with you and be better with you.”

I try to keep the smirk off my face, but I fail. He opens his eyes and frowns at me when he notices.

“Oh Christ, am I sounding so pathetic you’re actually going to laugh at me?”

“No! Fuck. I’m not laughing. I just… can’t believe it’s _you_ saying these words to me.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “I’m sorry. I just feel like this is some weird dream.”

“In… a nice way?”

“Yes, you prick. In a fucking… I’m crazy about you way. I always have been, even before we met.” He looks surprised, then breaks into a grin. “Now who’s sounding pathetic?”

“Not pathetic. Adorable.” He pushes his hair out of his eyes, and takes a breath, looking nervous. “But I understand if you don’t want to risk it. After everything. I’ve not exactly given you any reason to trust me, but I just… I really want you to give me a chance.”

I stare at him for a while, running through the possible scenarios in my head. He could easily hurt me. He’s self-destructive. Chaotic. He acts before he thinks and he’s reckless with every move he makes. I could walk away right now and, drunken hook-up aside, I’d never even know what I was missing.

Despite all that, the thought of just being his teammate, of watching him from a distance, not being close enough to smell his scent, or look into his eyes. The thought of not seeing that smile or feeling his hands on me, or his—

“I want to try.” The words come out before I’ve even had time to consider them. But I know it’s the truth.

“Really?”

His eyes light up as I shuffle closer, leaning into him. He leans in the rest of the way and our lips meet. It’s nothing like the kiss at the club. That night, I was frantic and desperate to get as much of him as quickly as possible, and he reciprocated. The kiss was fantastic, but it was blurred by alcohol and rough around the edges.

This kiss is soft. It’s patient. Like we have all the time in the world. Monty slowly opens his mouth against mine, then gently sucks on my bottom lip. I sigh and lean deeper into it, moving my hands into his hair and gently tugging at the roots.

His hands slide around my neck and we stay like that for a while. Kissing again, and again, until eventually we pause for breath, and I lean my forehead against his. He keeps his eyes closed and lets out a contented hum.

“Monty…” He opens his eyes and I swallow. This close, they’re even more blue than I thought possible. “We should…”

He interrupts. “Take it slow. I know.”

I move away slightly and give him a look. “I was going to say we should go to bed, but…”

“Oh, thank fuck.”

I laugh and he kisses me again, less cautiously this time, his tongue sliding into my mouth. I gasp as he climbs up into my lap, and I move my hands to his thighs. The kiss becomes deep and breathless, when suddenly he pulls back, grinning at me.

“Come on then, Newton. You want me in bed? Take me to bed.”

I narrow my eyes, but I’m so flustered that I doubt it looks remotely threatening. “You’re such a prick.”

He pouts, poking out his bottom lip, so I lean forward to nip at it. He yelps and I grip his thighs tighter, trying to lift us both off the sofa without falling over. It takes all of my strength, but I manage to stand up and he grins, looking smug (and extremely turned on), then wraps his legs around my waist.

I kiss him again, and his hands grip my neck as I carry him to my bedroom, kicking the door closed behind us before Yardstick can follows us in. She objects with a sad little shout, then walks sulkily to the kitchen.

\-------------------------

I overestimate my strength, and the moment we get near my bed, I stagger and drop Monty onto it with a very un-sexy thud. “Fuck! Sorry.”

He throws his head back onto the pillows and laughs. “I had no idea you liked it so rough! It’s always the quiet ones…”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

He raises his eyebrows at me, and I swallow, climbing onto the bed until I’m over the top of him. He bites his lip and I lean down, gently stroking his cheek. He pushes himself up, taking me by the back of my neck and pulling me down into a kiss.

The kiss deepens immediately, his tongue sliding into my mouth as I lower myself down on to him, my body weight pinning him to the bed. His legs open slightly, and I fit myself in between, the hand that isn’t on his face slides under the hem of his shirt.

I start to explore his stomach and his chest with my fingers, and he lets out a soft moan. Everything starts to feel blurry around the edges when it hits me; This is Monty. Monty is in my bed. Monty just moaned. I just made Monty moan.

I pause slightly and Monty tightens the grip on my neck, breaking the kiss and looking at me.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, very okay, I’m just…” I take a deep breath. “I’ve thought about this a lot.”

He smiles. “Yeah? Is it good? Our imaginary sex?”

I laugh. “It’s not bad.”

“I’ve thought about it, too. And my imaginary setup looks a little bit different.”

I give him a questioning look, and he grins, wrapping his legs around my waist and using them to flip me over onto my back. He immediately pushes my shirt up over my chest to under my armpits, so I lift my arms to help him pull it off.

“That’s better.” He threads his fingers through mine, then pins my hands to the pillow on either side of my head.

I gasp as he leans down to kiss my chest, his tongue pressing against me and making my muscles twitch in response. My back arches off the bed slightly as he slowly licks down the centre of my abs, his tongue dipping into my navel.

“Jesus Christ… “

“Mmm..” He kisses his way back up my chest, his voice muffled against my skin. “Your body is ridiculous…”

I’m breathless. But I don’t want to seem completely wrecked already, so I choke out a response. “Is that a good thing?”

“Yes. Good thing.” He moves up to my neck, biting down gently and I groan. “Very good thing.”

He moves back up until his face is over mine and kisses me again, letting go of my hands so that he can move his hands onto my chest. I tug at the bottom of his shirt and he takes the hint, leaning back to pull it over his head, before coming back for another long, languid kiss.

I writhe slightly underneath him, and he presses his hips down into mine in response. We both moan simultaneously, almost identically pitched, and then laugh.

“Jinx,” He says against my mouth and I smirk.

“You talk too much.”

“Shall I give my mouth something better to do?” I feel my entire body give an involuntary shudder and he smiles, looking smug. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He starts to undo my belt and I reach down to do the same to him. My hands are shaking slightly, but I notice his are too, and it takes us both a while to get the belts out of the way, and our flies undone. He pulls himself up so that he’s crouching over me, then uses one arm to pull my jeans down. I help him as much as possible, kicking them off over my feet until he can toss them onto the floor.

He lowers himself back down, his hand sliding down my chest and to the waistband of my boxers. He pulls at the elastic slightly, looking down at them, then back up at me.

“What happened to the Calvin Kleins?”

Before I can respond, he slides his hand inside and I lose the ability to speak. I drop my head back onto the pillow and gasp. He leans down and kisses my neck as his hand finds a rhythm and I slide my hands onto his waist, gripping onto his sides.

Even though we’ve done this part before, everything this time feels twice as intense, and my toes are curling within no time. He seems to notice and stops, pulling his hand away. I groan in disappointment.

He gives me a look, as if to say, “steady on”, then starts to pull my boxers the rest of the way down. Once they’re off and discarded, he starts kissing my chest again, then my stomach, then moves lower.

Jesus _Christ_.

Typical Monty. To brag about his skills and then somehow immediately shatter my expectations anyway. Prick.

After a while, I start to hear words tumbling out of my mouth, and I’m pretty certain most of them are nonsense, as my brain has completely short-circuited. I grip the sheets beside me tightly as Monty picks up his pace, but then I realise I don’t want this to be over, so I push a hand into his hair, tugging gently.

“Mon’y.” That comes out more of a gasp than an actual word, so I try again. “ _Monty_. Stop, stop.”

He pulls off and looks up at me, frowning and wiping his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Jesus, nothing. I would happily watch you do that for the rest of my life, but… I want to…”

I trail off and he rests his head against my thigh, staring up at me and smiling slightly. “You want to what, darling?”

And with that look, I give up on words. I tug on his hair until he gets the hint and lets me pull his face up to mine. I kiss him, then roll us over so I’m back on top. He grins as I go to pull of his jeans, helping me and pulling down his underwear at the same time.

Once they’re off, I sit back, taking the opportunity to take in the sight in front of me. Henry Montague, naked in my bed, his mouth red and swollen, his eyes wild. He watches me too, his face turning serious for a moment as he chews slightly on his bottom lip.

I gently run my hands up his sides, scraping slightly with my nails and he shudders. I lean down again and teasingly lick at his bottom lip. He groans, then grabs me roughly, wrapping his arms around me and opening his legs, pulling me down so that I’m fully on top of him with nothing separating us, his lips crashing into mine with more intensity than before.

We stay like that for a while, moving against each other, breathless and gasping. Eventually Monty pushes me away slightly, stopping for air.

“Please… _please_ tell me you have lube.”

“Wha—" I’m so flustered that it takes me a moment to realise what he’s talking about. “Why wouldn’t I… Christ, Monty. How innocent do you think I am?”

“Well, I don’t know!” He takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to compose himself. “I mean you said you didn’t have casual sex, so…”

“Just because I don’t shag literally everyone, doesn’t mean I don’t have sex.” I reach over to the bedside table and open the drawer, pulling out a bottle and a condom, looking back to see him narrowing his eyes at me. “What?”

“Are you really slut-shaming me when you’re about to have sex with me?”

I laugh. “I’m not slut-shaming you! If anything, you’re… prude-shaming me!”

“I never called you a prude!”

“You _implied_ it.” He smirks at me and I squint at him. “Are you trying to wind me up so I prove how much I’m _not_ a prude by any chance?”

“Darling! Do you think I’d ever resort to such sly tactics?”

“Yes. Completely.” He grins and I pause, tilting my head. “And it totally worked.”

He yelps as I suddenly pull him further down the bed, throwing his legs onto my shoulders. Things quickly become a blur of urgent fingers and mouths, gasps and moans, kisses and playful bites, arching backs and breathy laughter, and the things I’ve spent hours daydreaming about become so very, very real.

\-------------------------

After, I’m laying on top of Monty under the covers and we’re looking at each other as our breathing slows back to its normal pace. He’s staring at me like he’s trying to memorise every inch of my face, his fingers tracing the shape of my lips.

I let him look his fill, so that I can do the same. I take in his eyes, in that unusual shade of blue that never fails to make my stomach flutter. His dark eyebrows, the tiny freckle above his mouth, the beginnings of smile lines due to spending his entire life flashing that beautiful smile at people whenever he wants to get his way.

He’s gorgeous. He’s so fucking gorgeous and he’s mine.

We continue silently appreciating each other for a couple more minutes, when eventually he grins. I raise an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“I’m just trying to work out if you’re actually real.”

I roll my eyes slightly, smiling. “Any conclusions?”

“Pretty sure you’re a dream. There’s absolutely no way that a real human being can…” He holds a hand in front of his face, counting on his fingers. “Look like that, can play football like that, can kiss like that, can fu—”

I interrupt him with a pinch to his chest and he yelps. “I’m real. See?”

“That was unnecessary. But I suppose I’ll have to believe you.” He slides a hand over my shoulder and to the back of my neck, playing with the baby hairs at the back of my head. “And if that’s the case, then you should hear my plan. We should both quit the team, stay here, and you do that to me on the hour, every hour, until we both die of dehydration.”

I laugh. “We can stop and drink water occasionally, you know.” He shrugs. “And what will we do for money?”

“I have plenty of money, darling. Don’t worry about that.”

“Well, as lovely as that sounds, being a kept man and essentially a very realistic sex toy...” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “I actually quite like playing football.”

“Eugh.” He gently tugs on my hair. “Fucking loser.”

I lean down to kiss him, and he lets go a happy sigh into my mouth, the hand that isn’t on my neck slides up my back and he gently traces my shoulder blades with his fingers. I nudge at his chin as a hint and he obliges, lifting his head so I can kiss his neck.

“Mmm…” He takes a long, deep breath. “Keep doing that. Forever if possible. But I have a bone to pick with you, Newton.”

I go to look up at him, but he tightens his grip in my hair, gently moving my head back to where it was.

“I want to talk to you about the dangers of extremely obvious Instagram thirst traps.” I freeze mid-kiss, and he finally lets go of my hair so that I can look up at him. “Oh yeah, you really thought you were getting away with that one.”

“That wasn’t… that wasn’t my idea.” He gives me a look. “It wasn’t! I’ve been talking to some agents and one of them suggested I do a sponsored post so….” He continues to give me a look. “Okay, fine. There _may_ have been options that didn’t involve me showing my underwear.”

“You are a brazen hussy and you disgust me.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “Oh please! It worked, didn’t it? Anyway, you’ve been torturing me on Instagram for years.”

“Wh—” He scoffs at me. “Not intentionally! Also... _years_? How many years have you been wanking over my Instagram?”

Shit. I can feel my face turning warm immediately and he looks extremely amused.

“I haven’t been _wanking_ over you! I mean… okay, that’s just a lie.” He laughs, looking very pleased with himself. “Come on, be reasonable. There isn’t a gay football fan in existence that hasn’t knocked one out over you occasionally, you must know that.”

“True.” I narrow my eyes at him. “And now you get to _literally_ knock one out ove—”

“I swear this moment was quite romantic five minutes ago, Monty.” He giggles slightly. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Everything.”

He smiles at me, a sweet, genuine smile that makes me feel warm and fuzzy. I lean down and give him a gentle kiss on the nose. When I pull back, he’s furrowing his brow.

“What’s wrong?”

“You just kissed my nose.” I blink at him. “Why did you kiss my nose? Does my nose get you hot?”

“No, dickhead. It’s just… cute. I felt like kissing it.” He still looks confused, and suddenly a thought strikes me. “Monty, is this… is this the first time you’ve slept with someone who actually _likes_ you?”

“What? _No!_ Everyone likes me.” He pauses then frowns. “Well, depends on what you mean by ‘like’.”

“Someone who actually cares about you. Who doesn’t just want a shag.”

He smirks. “Are you trying to tell me you’re into me, Percy Newton?”

“You are impossible to talk to sometimes, do you know that?”

“Yes, I do. That’s why people usually just want the shagging.”

We exchange a mutual look, then he smirks, leaning up and placing a kiss on my nose.

“Your nose is cute, too.”

I feel myself blushing again and he grins when he notices, grabbing onto my back so that he can roll us over, him lying on top of me.

“You have cute cheeks.” He starts laying gentle kisses as he speaks. “And a cute forehead.” Kiss. “And cute eyes.” A kiss on each eye as I close them. “And a very cute mouth.”

I smile as his lips lightly brush mine, then he leans back to look at me. The look on his face causes so many _feelings_ to bubble up inside of me that I feel like something is going to overflow.

“And there are other cute things I haven’t kissed yet…”

He grins and moves down to kiss my chest, but I take his face and pull him back up to look at me.

“Monty, you need to sleep.”

“What? Sleep? No.” He pouts. “Kisses, not sleep.”

“There’s plenty of time for that. You scored three goals today, you basically ran all of the way here, you spilled your heart out and then you—”

“Got thoroughly shagged?” I smirk and nod. “Okay, yes, it’s been a hell of day, but I am _definitely_ up for one more round.”

I stifle a yawn. “Well, you may be on your own there.”

“I’m sure I can cope with that.” I poke him in the side of his waist, and he laughs. “Fine. Fine!”

He sighs and settles down on top of my chest, resting on his chin and looking up at me. I reach down and gently stroke his hair. He hums appreciatively, then smiles.

“Thank you.”

“For what, love?”

His eyes light up at the pet name, I store that knowledge away for later.

“For giving me a chance.”

I don’t answer, but I give him a little nod and he seems satisfied, laying his head to the side so his cheek is pressed above my heart, then closing his eyes. I watch him until his breathing evens out, then fall asleep almost immediately after.

\-------------------------

We both sleep like the dead, and when I wake up, I’m pressed against Monty’s back, my face fitting perfectly into his neck. To my embarrassment, I’ve drooled on his neck. I gently pull away and wipe it off with my hand, trying not to wake him, but I feel him stir.

“Mmmm.” He turns his head slightly, his face lighting up when he opens his eyes and sees me. “Hi.”

“Hello.”

“You’re actually here.”

“Did you expect me not to be?” I give him a gentle kiss. “We’ve established I’m not a dream, remember?”

“True. But I’ve had many dreams where people try to convince me it’s not a dream.” I lift my arm and he grabs my hand. “ _Nope_. No need to pinch me again, darling. I bruise like a peach, you know.”

I frown slightly and tug my hand away, gently reaching up to his neck, where there’s a dark mark. I run my finger across it. “I hadn’t realised that…”

“Oh, don’t worry. I always have those. No one will assume it’s you.” I roll my eyes and he grins. “Too soon?”

“Ridiculously soon.” He turns over so that he’s properly facing me, and I sigh. “I wish we didn’t have to hide this.”

He gives me a sad smile. “It won’t be forever.”

“Won’t it? What is the… _plan_ , exactly?”

“Is it awful that I don’t want to think about it just yet?” I bite my lip and he reaches out to stroke my cheek. “I promise we’ll deal with it. But for now, I just want… this. Us like this. For as long as possible.”

He leans in and gives me a soft, lingering kiss. I feel a contented warmth spread over my entire body. This is mine. We can have this, the rest of the world be damned.

I take a deep breath when he finally pulls away to look at me.

“Okay. Me too. I want this, too.” He smiles. “Also, it might be quite hot to sneak around for a while…”

He gasps. “Percy Newton! I think I’m starting to rub off on you…”

“Well, you can if you want, but I really think you should probably shower first.” He shoves me and I laugh. “God, I think your filthy brain is contagious.”

“Apparently so, and I’m fucking loving it.” He gives me another kiss, then rolls away, climbing out of bed. I whine slightly. “Noooo…”

“You said I needed to shower and you’re correct.” He stands up, still naked, and motions to himself. “You’ve made me icky.”

“You don’t look icky.” I give him an appreciative once over and he smirks. “You look very far from icky.”

“You’re insatiable.” He picks up a pillow and throws it at me. “I’m showering. Then you can make me icky all over again if you want. Make us some coffee.”

I reach over to grab a towel, tossing it to him and he grins, going into my en-suite bathroom. I wait until I hear the shower turn on, then get up, pulling on my boxers that were thrown on the floor and dragging myself up.

I go into the kitchen, where Yardstick is waiting on the counter. I shake my head and pick her up, dropping her on the floor before grabbing her food and refilling her bowl, then getting her some water.

I fill up the kettle too and turn it on, frowning when there’s a knock on the door. Whether I’m still half asleep, or still drunk on Monty sex, I’m not sure, but I forget my state of undress and wander over to open it.

It’s Sim.

Her eyes immediately drop to my boxers, then she slams her hands over her face.

“JESUS CHRIST, PERCY!”

“Fuck!” I quickly scramble over to the sofa, grabbing a blanket off the back and wrapping it around myself like a makeshift dress. “Sorry!”

She slowly opens her fingers and peeks through, looking relieved when she sees I’ve managed to somewhat regain my dignity. She puts her hands down and gives me a look.

“Are you sleepwalking or something? Who answers the door in their fucking undies?” She lets herself in, dropping down on the sofa. I frown. “I’ll give you five minutes, then I’m shoving you out of that door, whether you’re naked or not.”

“Wha— shit. Our run.”

She glares at me. “You forgot.”

I point at the blanket around me. “How could you tell?”

“Well, now I’m here, you may as well. Unless you’re hungover again?”

“No, I’m not, but—”

It seems to happen in slow motion, events unfolding and me helpless to stop them. Monty walks jauntily out of the bedroom wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, rubbing another towel through his wet hair, his eyes closed. He’s singing. Loudly.

“ _What he lacks in height, he makes up for in fight, and he’s four inches longer than yooooouuu._ God, what a fucking song. If only they knew about _your_ co— ”

I finally get myself together and cough loudly to interrupt. He looks up at me, then looks at Sim, and they both stare at each other. Sim’s jaw drops.

Monty grimaces. “Morning!”

She turns to me. “You sneaky little…”

“Hey! Not sneaky! This has literally just happened.”

She looks me up and down. “No shit, Sherlock.”

I blush slightly and Monty tries to make things less awkward, walking over to her and holding out his hand. She awkwardly shakes it, looking a strange mix of starstruck and mortified.

“Well, you must be Sim! Lovely to finally meet you.”

“Mont, do you think you could possibly…“ He looks at me and I smile apologetically. “… put some clothes on?”

“Oh. Yes. Great idea.”

He mouths “sorry” at me and I shrug, rubbing my face. He ducks back into the bedroom with a flourish and I look back at Sim. She’s narrowing her eyes at me.

“So… you finally humped his leg,” she says. Far too loudly.

I hear something crash in the bedroom, so I guess Monty heard. Fantastic.

“I hate you.”

“Or was it him that did the humping? I’m not very knowledgeable about these things…”

“I truly hate you.” I glance at the door, sitting down next to her and lowering my voice. “Listen. It’s very new and… I’m still kind of…”

“Naked. You’re still kind of naked.”

“Get over it.” She scoffs. “I’m still kind of… in shock. It’s _Monty_.”

“Fuck.” She breaks into a grin. “It’s Monty. Was it amazing?”

“It was…” I lower my voice even more. “Fucking life-changing.”

She squeals, too loudly once again, and throws her arms around me. I can’t help but laugh and hug her back.

“Oh, I’m so happy for you! I mean should I be happy for you? It wasn’t just a one-night stand, was it? If it was, I’m _extremely_ sorry for my timing.”

I let go and look at her. “No! It wasn’t. I mean… I hope not. We talked. A lot. Before we…” I smile, as it dawns on me what I’m about to say. “I think we’re a couple now.”

She squeals again, bouncing up and down on the sofa with excitement. I laugh and put my hand on her leg to stop her moving, just as Monty comes out of the bedroom wearing the same clothes from last night, his hair towel dried. He tosses me a dressing gown and I smile gratefully, standing up to put it on.

“Sorry”, he says to Sim. “About the nudity.”

Sim shrugs. “That’s okay… although, I think I’ve seen more naked men today than I have in my entire life.”

“Well, at least you got to see some pretty fine specimens.” He sits on the arm of the sofa. “Did it do anything for you? Any tinglings at all?”

“You wish.”

I groan. “Well, as lovely as this has been…”

“God. Yeah. I’ll go. I’m not getting in the middle of this insane sexual tension for a minute longer.” She stands up, brushing herself off and holding out her arms to me. I go over for a hug and she gives me a huge squeeze, whispering in my ear. “I’m happy for you. But please be careful.”

I frown as she pulls away, then goes over to hug Monty. I see her whisper something in his ear too, which makes his face fall. She pulls away to give him a pointed look and he nods, somewhat sheepishly.

“Bye, love bugs.”

I give her a look and she grins as she walks out, closing the door behind her. I look at Monty and he looks distracted, staring at the floor. I walk over and stand in front of him, lifting his chin up until he’s looking back at me.

“You okay, love?”

“Hmm? Yes. Yes!” He nods in the direction of the door. “She’s a charmer, isn’t she? Leg humping?”

“Just… inside joke.”

“Sure.” He smiles up at me. “Kiss me.”

I smile back and lean down, giving him a kiss and he wraps his arms around me. “Do you still want coffee?”

“Yes, but first I want you on top of me again.”

I laugh, reaching out to play with his wet hair. “The kettle will definitely go cold if we do that.”

“Well, that’s the magical thing about kettles.” He slides back onto the sofa, pulling me down on top of him by the cords of my dressing gown. “You can boil them again.”

“You may be a genius.”

He laughs and I pin him down to kiss him, grabbing his legs to wrap them around my waist.


	8. Stoke the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monty and Percy enjoy some domestic bliss, while Richard Peele doesn't take kindly to being ignored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly fluff with some football (thank you as ever [future_fae_king](https://archiveofourown.org/users/future_fae_king/pseuds/future_fae_king) for the football beta-ing and helping me plot!!) Yes, some angst may be slowly creeping in, but for now... cuteness!
> 
> Content warnings as usual: Strong language, sexual references, references to drug abuse, implied sexual content and Richard Peele.

**MONTY**

_“If you hurt him, I’ll string you up by your nut sack.”_

Well, I’m not going to lie and say that Sim’s words in my ear after my first night with Percy haven’t been haunting me ever since. 

Thankfully, however, there’s been plenty going on to distract me.

I’ve heard the term ‘honeymoon period’ thrown around throughout my life, but being a serial non-monogamist, I’ve yet to experience it for myself until now. The hype is real; the last two weeks have been _bliss_.

In between training and games, Percy and I have barely been apart, shut away together either at his apartment or more commonly, my penthouse. There’s been a lot of cuddling (I never considered myself a cuddler until this man). There’s been talking; sometimes so late into the night that one of us ends up falling asleep mid-sentence. There’s been some dancing, too; as I try to get Percy into Charli XCX, and he makes a valiant effort to get me to listen to anything featuring a violin.

And there’s been sex. Oh god, so much sex. And it’s better than I even fantasised about; of the rare calibre that regularly has me seeing stars. 

After toning down the booze (I’m down to a couple of glasses of wine with dinner), and managing to cut out the marching powder completely, I think it’s fair to say that Percy Newton, this gorgeous, funny, multi-talented, gentle giant of a man, is my new addiction. 

I couldn’t hurt him. I won’t. Even without the threat of physical violence from his best friend. 

Today we’re at my place, where we’ve spent most nights because of Percy’s adoration for the penthouse’s view of the entire city, and my adoration for having Percy on my ridiculously expensive king-sized bed.

We’re in the kitchen, and Percy is making us what is apparently his ‘speciality’ - homemade McDonalds Egg McMuffins, despite my insistence that we could easily just order actual McDonalds. As I sit on the counter (practically swimming in one of his oversized t-shirts), watching him dart about the kitchen in nothing but tight boxers, I’m undeniably glad he won the argument.

“Darling, don’t let the hot oil spray on you.”

He looks at me. “Shit. You’re right. I should get dressed.”

He walks past me and I grab his arm, pulling him back so that he’s standing in between my legs.

“Don’t you bloody dare.” He laughs and I pull him in for a kiss. “The most important parts are covered up, that’s all that matters.”

“Right.” He kisses me again, then pulls away, going back to the stove to tend to the eggs which are on the verge of being ruined. “I can splash boiling oil all over my face, as long as my dick is still intact.”

“Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

I watch him as he finishes serving up breakfast, the domesticity of it making my stomach feel fuzzy. I want to keep him here all day, but alas. 

There’s a home game today against Wratham City. We’ve made a habit of driving to the stadium in my car, with me dropping Percy just around the corner to walk the rest of the way so we’re not spotted. It’s annoying. But the novelty of stealing glances and exchanging subtle touches when there’s no one watching has still yet to wear off.

I also have a fun new hobby of seeing how long I can go shirtless in the locker room for no reason before Percy goes completely red. I love making him blush almost as much as I love making his eyes roll back in his head. 

He puts our plates on the breakfast bar and I hop down off the counter to go sit on a stool. He sits on the one next to me and I stare at him for a couple of seconds before he notices. 

“Are you going to eat, or just stare?”

“Haven’t decided yet.” He smirks and leans in to kiss my nose, a sweet but significant little gesture I’ve completely fallen in love with over the last couple of weeks. 

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to have to make a move on you, and then we’ll definitely be late.”

“ _Make a move on me?_ ” I clasp a hand to my chest and gasp dramatically. “I’d like to see you _try_ , Newton.”

He laughs around a mouth full of muffin. “Shut up and eat.”

I shrug and finally start tucking in. It’s good. Annoyingly good. Percy is one of those people who manages to make even fried eggs taste like fine cuisine. I give him a grateful smile and he nudges my foot with his.

“You’re welcome.” He grabs his coffee and takes a sip. “We ready to destroy City later?”

“I’m not sure I have “destroying” energy right now, but thankfully Peele is hopeless. I’m predicting at least six goals.”

He laughs. “He’s not bad!”

I narrow my eyes and he gives me a look. Fuck. This will be awkward. But necessary. I take a deep breath.

“I need to tell you something.”

He pauses with his food halfway to his mouth, then puts it back down, looking at me. “You okay?”

“Yes! Fine. More than fine.” He looks extremely relieved, which makes my heart twist slightly. “It’s just… Richard Peele. You should know that he and I kind of had… a thing.”

His lip curls, he’s clearly trying to stifle a look of disgust, but failing miserably. “ _Richard Peele_?”

I roll my eyes. “You were defending him a second ago…”

“Defending his goalkeeping ability, Mont. And I wouldn’t have bothered if I’d know you were fu—”

“Past tense, darling! Very much past tense.” He gives me a look. “I’ve barely been out of your sight in _weeks_ , I couldn’t still be sleeping with him even if I wanted to!” He glares. “Which I don’t! He’s disgusting!”

He pauses. “So, you were sleeping with him because…?”

“Oh.” I scoff, waving my hand at him, picking up my egg muffin. “We don’t need to get into that.”

“Well, now we definitely do.”

I huff. “He gives good head, okay? I think it’s to compensate for his personality.”

Percy frowns at me, then looks at his food, distractedly poking at it. We sit in awkward silence for a few seconds before he quietly speaks up.

“Better than me?”

I laugh and he shoots me a look. “No! Christ, of course not. I had no basis for comparison at the time, did I? In comparison to you, he’s awful in every fucking way. Come on.”

He takes a deep breath, he’s clearly still annoyed but he’s softening slightly.

“Are you pissed off, baby? Should I not have said anything?”

“No, it’s… fine. It’s good. I’m glad you told me, and I don’t really have the right to be pissed off about people you slept with before me.” He sighs and reaches out, pushing my hair out of my eyes. “It’s just that picturing someone else with you, doing… that. Or even just kissing you. It makes me want to vomit.”

“If it helps, he’s a horrible kisser. It’s like putting your tongue in a washing machine.” He smirks slightly. “So, we’re okay?”

“Yes, love. We’re okay.” He leans in and kisses me. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

Honest. Right. Perhaps I should tell him about Jeanne while I’m at it. Just dump all of my dirty laundry on him at once, so he has the chance to run before we get any deeper into this. 

Because he would. Run, that is. Who would want to be with someone who fucks his manager’s wife out of pure spite?

He doesn’t need to know. It’s over. I’ve blocked Jeanne’s number. Felicity would never tell a soul. I don’t need to see the look on his face when he remembers he’s fallen for an absolute train wreck.

I smile. “You’re welcome.”

“Now is there any chance you can call me ‘baby’ again? Like… immediately?”

“Did that give you a little twinge, Perce?” He waggles his eyebrows slightly. “I suppose I can make a habit of it. _Baby_.”

He hums appreciatively and leans in to give me a deep kiss, gently biting my lip when he pulls away. I whine slightly and he reaches down to squeeze my hand.

“Eat.” He lets go, then stands up. “Where do you keep your salt again?”

I start eating again, watching him as he opens a couple of cupboards. He reaches for the one under the sink and I choke slightly.

“Wait! Not that—”

He’s already opened it, and he frowns, bending down and picking up a very sad and very dead plant that I’d (very badly) attempted to hide from him. He turns to me and raises an eyebrow.

“One week, Monty. I gave you this one week ago.”

I pout. “I don’t know how to look after plants! I’ve never had a pet.”

“You... fucking hell, love. Water it every now and then! How is this even… “ He holds it up. “How can it be _so_ dead, _so_ quickly?”

I grimace. “There’s… a chance I watered it with vodka by accident.” He blinks. “...Baby.”

He puts it on the counter then narrows his eyes at me. I bite my lip, trying not to laugh.

“You are hopeless. And a pain in the arse. And a plant murderer.”

“Yes. And I should be punished. Severely.”

He rolls his eyes, smirking slightly. “We don’t have time.”

“Punished mildly, then.”

He walks over, leaning across the breakfast bar to give me a quick kiss. 

“Later. Save your energy for the match.”

“I hate you.” I petulantly shove the remainder of my breakfast into my mouth. “I’m glad I murdered the plant. She deserved it.”

“I’m never getting you a gift again.”

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  
  


**MONTY**

We make it on time to warm up for the game, but by the time it’s kicked off, I wish we’d just stayed in bed, multi-million pound contracts be damned. I hate playing City on a good day, and today is rainy and miserable. The so-called United-City “rivalry” bores me to tears, and having to deal with Richard’s smug face every time I make an attempt on goal is not worth my (albeit very generous) salary. 

I won’t deny that I could have handled the Richard situation better. For the first week I was with Percy, he texted me constantly. Cringe-worthy attempts at sexting and banter, and on one occasion an extremely unimpressive photo. 

I ghosted him completely. 

Which may explain why he’s looking at me like he wants to snap my neck.

I get another shot on goal at around thirty minutes into the first half, and I boot the ball into the left corner of the net, but Richard dives for it and comfortably saves it. I swear to God he’s making double the effort he usually does. As he tosses the ball away, he smirks at me, yelling over.

“Looking a bit tired, Henry! Did you run out of gear?”

I glare over at him, tempted to throw up a middle finger, but very aware how much trouble that would get me in. Instead, I call back.

“Just _completely_ shagged out, Richard! Great save, by the way!”

That gets me a delightful scowl and I turn away, looking up field to see if I can catch Percy’s eye. He’s far away but I can tell he’s watching me. A pleased shiver goes through me when I realise he’s jealous that I’m so near Richard. The idea that he thinks there’s any comparison between the two of them is laughable.

Wratham City’s defence kicks it up a notch after that and I barely see the ball for the rest of the first half. 

Half time is painful. Duke is really on one about our performance but all I can focus on is Percy, who’s sat next to me looking agitated. I manage to catch his eye and raise my eyebrows in a silent “you okay?”

He leans closer to me and mumbles under his breath. “What was he saying to you?”

I talk back even more quietly, keeping my eyes on Duke. “Nothing worth repeating. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried about it.”

I fucking hate Richard Peele.

  
  


\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  
  
  


**PERCY**

This game is making me anxious.

We’ve yet to score, either because Peele is on an absolute mission to not let one of Monty’s strikes in, or because Monty is half-arsing it. Both scenarios are pissing me off. I try my best to get the ball back in United’s possession and it finally reaches me from one of our attackers.

I dribble it up the field for a couple of yards before passing it to Walker, who has managed to evade his mark. He passes it over the heads of a couple of City defenders and my heart skips when it reaches Monty.

He runs with the ball, breaking away from his mark, and is nearing the goal when Richard runs towards him. I frown as I realise what he’s about to do, but it’s too late to do anything about it but watch. He brutally tackles Monty before he can shoot, their legs colliding viciously, sending Monty a few feet into the air before they both hit the ground. I flinch and instinctively run over.

He hurt him. That little shit _hurt him_.

Richard pulls himself up, but Monty is still sitting on the ground when I reach him. I kneel down next to him and it takes all of my strength not to pull him into my arms, instead, I look down at his leg. He’s taken off his shin guard and he’s bleeding. Heavily. Richard’s boot seems to have caught him badly.

The ref is giving Richard a yellow card, but he barely responds, watching Monty with his lip slightly curled before stalking back to his goal.

I glare at his back, then look back at Monty. “Are you…”

“It’s fine, it’s just… bleeding.” He winces as a medic runs over. “ _Ow_. Fucking _prick_.”

I lower my voice as the medic takes a closer look at his shin. “That was intentional.”

“Apparently he really doesn’t like being ghosted.” The woman pressing gauze against his leg gives him a quick glance at this, but he doesn’t notice as he’s too busy wincing.

She sighs slightly. “This might need a stitch or two. You’re going to have to come off.”

“Jesus. Okay.” She stands up and pulls him to his feet. He looks at me with a grimace and I swallow. “You’ll have to avenge me, dar—” He glances at the medic and stops himself.

I smile slightly. “Just… take it easy, okay?”

He manages to give me a grin and a flash of his dimples, presumably put on just to comfort me, then limps off the pitch with his arm around the medic. I look over at the goal where Richard is leaning against the post, waiting for play to start again. He’s staring at me, and when I catch his eye, he gives me a smug look.

I’d like nothing better to wipe that ugly little smirk off his face.

The ref calls for a free kick and I look around me. I spot Monty behind the goal, having his leg tended to, while he watches Richard through the net. A sudden urge comes over me and I run over to one of our attackers, nudging him out of the way as the ball is fired over to us.

Richard runs out of his goal to try and intercept the ball and I leap up, as if I’m going to head the ball into the net, then at the last second throw out an elbow, catching him hard in the face.

I hear a muffled “oofe!” sound as we collide and the next thing I see is Richard staggering a metre or so away from me and holding his face, blood dribbling out from underneath his glove.

“Fuck! You prick!”

Someone has cleared the ball by then, so I do my best fake gasp, reaching out to grab his arm.

“Shit! Did I hit you?”

He glares at me, spitting on the ground. “You fucking elbowed me, you cu—”

“Oh Jesus!” I grimace, looking down at my arms. “Sometimes my gangly arms just have a mind of their own, are you okay? Should I get someone?”

“No! Just fuck off!”

I bite down a smirk and look through the back of the net, where Monty is gaping at me, open-mouthed. I turn around to see that the ref is running over, holding a yellow card in the air.

My first ever Premier League booking. And it was totally worth it.

  
  
  


\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  


**PERCY**

Back in the locker rooms, Monty disappears somewhere before I get a chance to speak to him. I get a couple of pats on the back from the team (Peele doesn’t seem to be particularly popular with anyone after wrecking Monty like that for seemingly no reason) and I grab a towel, going to head into the showers.

Before I reach them, a hand grabs my arm and tugs me in the opposite direction. Monty grabs the towel and tosses it to the side, pulling me out into the hall, still limping slightly.

“Monty, where the hell did you—”

“Sshh!” He cuts me off, glancing around us, then opening the door to what seems to be a store cupboard, pushing me inside then piling in after me.

He closes the door behind us and before I have a chance to speak, he grabs the front of my jersey and pins me up against a shelf of cleaning products. I wince slightly as something digs into my back, but it’s quickly forgotten as he leans up to shove his mouth against mine.

“Mmmph!” I let go a noise of surprise into his mouth and he laughs slightly, without breaking the kiss, then moves one hand underneath my jersey up to my chest.

He talks against my lips, his voice sounding shaky. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“What was?” He pulls away to give me a look. I smirk slightly. “Oh, that? That was an accident.”

“Tell me all about it.” His fingers dig into my chest. “Did he cry?”

I laugh, grabbing him by the waist and backing him into the door. He gasps and I lean down to kiss him again.

“He hurt you.” I motion to his shin, where a bandage is now sitting.” Was I supposed to just ignore it?”

He practically growls in response. “You being my bodyguard is an _extreme_ turn on.”

“Really?” I slide my hand between his legs over his shorts and he whines. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“No, no. Your turn.” He tries to push my hand away, but I stop him. “Come on! I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything. And anyway… you said he gave good head.” He raises his eyebrows as I undo the knot on the waistband of his shorts. “I need to make you forget he even existed.”

He laughs as I go to my knees in front of him, pulling his shorts down. 

  
  
  


\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

  
  
  


**MONTY**

By the evening, my leg is feeling much better. I consider for a moment if Percy’s talented mouth has medicinal properties. At this point, nothing about him would surprise me.

He’s insisting on taking care of me like I’m seriously injured, and I’m lying on the sofa in his apartment with a couple of cushions unnecessarily tucked under my calves. Yardstick is lying across my chest, fast asleep, while Percy fusses around in the kitchen. I shout over to him.

“Do you think it’s broken?” He peeks his head around the corner, looking confused. “His nose! Did you hear a crunch or a snap?”

“Jesus, Monty.” His head disappears again but he keeps talking. “You’re so morbid.”

I scoff. “Well, he’d deserve it. My whole life flashed before my eyes when he tackled me!”

“Did it?” He finally comes back out, carrying a huge tray of nachos and two plates. “What did that consist of? Images of you doing lines of coke off the backs of strippers? Falling asleep with your head in a toilet?”

“How is it you can be so sweet, and yet also the biggest prick I’ve ever met?”

He puts the nachos down on the table. “You sound impressed.”

He grabs a handful and puts them on his own plate, before sitting in the armchair across from me. I pout, reaching out and doing grabby hands at him.

“Too far away.”

He laughs. “You’re taking up the whole sofa.”

“You made me lie like this!” I slowly swing my legs around so as not to disturb the cat, sitting up properly. I stretch out both of my legs to demonstrate how fine they are. “It’s just a cut and a bit of a bruise. Get over here.”

Percy rolls his eyes but smiles, getting up and putting his plate back down on the table. He picks up the blanket from the back of his chair before bringing it over to the sofa where I’m sitting. He wraps it around himself before sitting next to me, holding the blanket open until I shuffle over slightly to cuddle up to him. 

“Are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

“You’re ridiculous.” I pet Yardstick’s head, looking at her and putting on my most annoying baby voice. “Your daddy is the most overprotective boyfriend in the country, yes he is!”

Percy clears his throat and I look up at him. He raises an eyebrow. “Overprotective… what now?”

Fuck. I feel all my blood go straight to my face. 

“Is that… okay?” 

He grimaces slightly. “I just wasn’t really… expecting it.”

“Oh god, it’s too early. Shit. There’s some secret rule about when you can say the b-word and I’ve jumped the gun several years too early, haven’t I? _Shit_. I’ll just…”

I go to get up and Yardstick hops off my lap with a yelp of protest. Percy laughs and pulls me back down.

“I’m fucking with you! I’m fucking with you, Monty.”

I immediately shove him. “Arsehole! You know I’m a mess of a person, there’s no need to stoke the fire.”

He’s still laughing. “I’m sorry! But your face was just…” He actually does a chef’s kiss. The bastard. “I’ve been referring to you as my boyfriend to Sim since day one.”

“Really?” He nods. “She hates me, you know.”

He stops laughing and furrows his brow. “Why would you think that?”

“She thinks I’m going to break your heart.”

He stares at me for a second before reaching out and gently holding my chin. I swallow slightly, wondering how I suddenly managed to make this conversation so serious. 

“I trust you, Monty.”

He gently strokes his thumb across my jaw, watching my face carefully and I nod, so he leans in to give me a soft kiss. 

He speaks against my lips. “I have something for you.”

He pulls away and gets up, tossing the blanket over my head. I frown and pull it off, watching him disappear into his bedroom. 

“You’ve already given me the gift of Richard Peele’s bloody nose _and_ a blow job today, what else could you possibly have for me?”

I hear him laugh and he comes back in carrying two boxes, dropping back down on the sofa and handing one to me. I give him a look and then open it up.

Inside are a pair of Adidas football boots. I pick one up for a closer look and realise that the white of the stripes has been delicately decorated with paint and markers. There’s a beautiful illustration of the plant Percy bought me as a gift, the leaves spreading out between the stripes as if they’re wrapped around them. There are several tiny flowers dotted about in pink, purple and blue… the colours of the bisexual pride flag, I realise with a start. Under the laces, there is one tiny pink heart with an M in the middle. 

I look up at him, speechless, and he smirks, bringing out a tiny black marker pen from his pocket and taking the boot from me.

“Due to recent tragic events, this needs updating.” He carefully writes the words _‘In Memoriam’_ in beautiful swirly letters next to the plant, then hands it back to me with a grin. 

“Percy, these are…” I turn them over in my hands. “I didn’t even know you could draw.”

He shrugs. “Just as a hobby. I don’t flatter myself in thinking I’m an artist or anything.” He takes a deep breath. “Do you like them?”

“I _love_ them! This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever…” I lean over and kiss him. “I love them. Thank you.”

He grins, looking relieved. “Good. I made myself some too, look.”

He grabs the other box and pulls out another identical pair, holding them up to me so that I can see. These ones are covered in an intricate pattern made of rainbow colours. 

“Hopefully one day, I’ll be brave enough to actually wear them.”

I swallow. “Percy, you will. You’re the bravest man I know.” I kiss him again. “How are you so wonderful?”

“I try very, _very_ hard.” 

I put the boots back in their box and sling my arms around his neck. “I owe you like… fifty gifts at this point. It’s getting silly.”

“You technically also owe me fifty grand…” I raise my eyebrows and he laughs. “Too soon?”

“We promised to never mention _The Incident_ ever again.”

“Well, that’s one way of ensuring I never get my money back.”

“I can pay you back in sexual favours?”

“As if you weren’t going to give me those anyway…” He gives me a long kiss, then leans his forehead against mine. “I’ve told you, you don’t owe me anything.”

I wish I could believe that. I nod anyway and kiss him, lying back and pulling him down on top of me. 


	9. The Valentine's Type

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monty and Percy spend Valentine's Day together, but an overdue conversation with Felicity casts a shadow on proceedings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that I've changed from switching POV per chapter, to switching POV from scene to scene. Was this my original plan? No. Am I just blagging it? Yes. I have also added in two more chapters since this fic was first outlined, so you could say it's going swimmingly.
> 
> Not many content warnings for this chapter (sexual references, references to hms' abuse, one reference to suicide), but sorry lads... angst is BUBBLING.

**PERCY**

Since the seizure at Wratham stadium a few weeks ago, the new medication I’ve been prescribed for my epilepsy has been working perfectly, with minimum side effects. A couple of days of dizziness while I adjusted, but generally I’ve felt wonderful.

Tonight, at my apartment, I had a slight wobble. At an extremely inconvenient time. Monty and I had been… trying something new, let’s say, when I was overcome with a sudden wave of nausea. Thankfully, I made it to the toilet before vomiting, and Monty was right behind me to hold my hair back (another inconvenient timing – I rarely wear my hair down) and rub my back.

After, bless him, he ran me a bubble bath, which I’m currently sat in, one leg hanging over the side. He’s told me several times that he doesn’t think he knows how to care for other people, a claim that gets more laughable by the day.

I drop my head back and sigh, enjoying the sensation of the heat soaking into my tired muscles, then there’s a gentle knock at the door.

“Percy?”

I laugh slightly. “Yep, still me.”

The door isn’t locked, so Monty opens it and I look up as he comes inside. He’s wearing the ridiculously camp blue silk kaftan that he’s started leaving at my apartment, despite my constant mockery, and his hair is still dishevelled from earlier which makes my mouth twitch up in a smile.

“Waiting twenty whole minutes without coming in to join me, Monty? I’m actually offended.”

He scoffs and walks over to put the toilet seat down, sitting on it. “You’re ill. I’m not going to make you squeeze into a bath with me when you’re ill.”

“I’m feeling much better…”

“Oh.” He smirks. “Well, in that case…”

He stands back up, dropping the kaftan and shimmying out of his boxers. I grin and shuffle back as much as I can, trying to make room for him. My bathtub is nowhere near as huge as the one at his penthouse, so it’s a snug fit when he lowers himself down between my legs, his back against my chest, but I’m certainly not going to complain.

He shivers slightly as he gets used to the temperature, and I press a gentle kiss to his shoulder before leaning my head against it. “I should have guessed you only ran me a bath so that you could be naked and pressed up against me again.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Yes. But you’re still very sweet.” He tilts his head around to look at me, and I kiss his nose. “Sorry. By the way.”

He frowns. “For what, darling?”

“For ruining the moment. Probably not very flattering when someone runs off in the middle of sex to throw up…”

“Oh, stop it. Who _hasn’t_ done that?” I give him a look. “I once had to run to the toilet and vomit in the middle of going down on a supermodel because I was so hungover. Didn’t hear from her again after that, funnily enough.”

“And with that, I’m feeling sick again.” He gently elbows me in the chest. “You’re not upset with me, then?”

“Don’t be a dickhead.”

In Monty language, that’s a solid ‘no’, so I relax slightly, running my hand through the bubbles, picking up a fist full and placing them on top of Monty’s head once he’s turned forward again. He doesn’t notice.

“I was reminded of something, earlier.” He says, reaching back to play with my hair.

“Hmmm?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow.”

I pause. “It is, yep.”

“Should we… are we doing anything?”

I nuzzle slightly into his neck and he sighs. “I didn’t take you for the Valentine’s type.”

“I could be! I’ve never really had the _opportunity_ to be the Valentine’s type.”

I smile. “I’m your first Valentine.”

“That makes me sound like I’m fourteen years old, but… yeah. Pretty much.” I wrap my arms around his waist, and he holds onto them, playing with the hairs on my forearm. “So, should we? Do something?”

“Well, it’s not like I was planning on spending the night alone, love. Was kind of hoping we could do the same thing we’ve been doing… oh I don’t know… every night for a month?”

“I mean, that’s definitely how I plan to _end_ the evening. But I thought perhaps we could do something special beforehand.” That makes me smile to myself, and I squeeze him a little tighter. “You’ve been so wonderful to me and I feel like I’m taking you for granted.”

“You… what?” He cranes his neck to look at me. “That’s bollocks, Monty. Don’t say that.”

“I at least owe you for the boots.” I open my mouth, but he cuts me off before I can speak. “Okay, okay! I don’t owe you anything. According to you. But I’d still like to do something nice.”

I smile. “Okay. Well, you could … take me out for a romantic meal. Show me off.”

His brow immediately furrows, and he looks forward again. Shit.

“Sorry, love. That wasn’t funny.”

“I dunno. My life is pretty funny. Generally speaking.”

I sigh, leaning my forehead against his back. “We don’t need to do anything. I just want to be with you. That’s special to me.”

I feel him swallow but he threads his fingers through mine, squeezing them. “I know.”

I hope he knows I mean it. That I’m happy being anywhere with him. I’d stay in the closet forever if it meant waking up to his face in front of me, breaking into his beautiful sleepy smile. I’d hide us away for the rest of our lives as long as I could keep feeling his mouth on mine, keep making him laugh, making him moan.

Is it too soon to tell him all that? I want to tell him. Perhaps in fewer words. Just _three_ words, really. But something is stopping me, and I can’t quite place it.

“How are you feeling, darling?” He speaks so quietly, I barely catch it.

“I’m fine. I’m good. Thank you for taking care of me.” I sit up straight and plant a kiss behind his ear. “Let’s go back to bed.”

He looks at me. “Really?”

I smirk slightly. “To sleep, Monty.”

“Oh, _that_ sort of go to bed. How disappointing.”

“Alternatively, we could just stay here and kiss until the water goes cold and we’re both as shrivelled as old prunes?”

“Third option. _You_ go to bed, I stay here and have a wank.” I roll my eyes, reaching up to tug on his hair. “Ow. What?!”

“You’re such a romantic.”

He’s pressed so closely against me that I feel his sigh. “I know.”

  
**MONTY**

“I don’t blame you for avoiding me.”

I’m flicking through some photos from the new Burberry campaign in Felicity’s office, where we’ve been sitting in fairly awkward silence for at least ten minutes, when she finally speaks up. I frown and look at her.

“What?”

She looks uncomfortable, fiddling with the edge of the notepad she has in front of her. “I know you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I… no! I have _not_ been avoiding you, Feli. I’ve just—”

“I’m just saying, I don’t blame you.” She takes a deep breath like this conversation is causing her physical pain. “I was harsh. That night you called me.”

“ _Harsh_? Felicity, I called you at two in the morning, smashed off my face, to complain about my love life. You weren’t harsh _enough_.”

“You were a disgrace, don’t get me wrong. I just…” She sighs, shrugging her shoulders. “For whatever reason, I feel guilty. I appreciate you taking my advice on board, however! I really do.”

I get a somewhat blurry flashback to that horrendous conversation; _‘You will not see Jeanne. Or mess around with Percy.’_

One out of two isn’t bad.

“Anything to make your life easier, darling.” Then I frown. “Hang on, what makes you think I’ve been taking your advice on board? We haven’t spoken…”

“Well, precisely. I’ve not heard from you. I haven’t had any panicked phone calls. No problematic Google Alerts. Haven’t seen you in a single tabloid.” She smiles. “You’ve been behaving!”

“Thanks, mum!” She rolls her eyes. “Perhaps I should start paying you less…”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

“It was worth a try.”

She leans back, folding her arms and tilting her head at me.

“So, what _have_ you been up to? Apart from bleeding all over the pitch.”

“You actually watched a match?” I clutch my hands to my chest, feigning looking moved. “I’m honoured!”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

_I’ve been having the best month of my entire life, Feli. I’m so happy and so content, but guess what? I’m still a terrible, horrible person, so I feel like it’s all going to be ripped away from me at any second and I’ll be as alone and miserable as I deserve to be. Thanks for asking!_

“I’ve been…” I shrug. “Busy.”

She narrows her eyes at me, but I’m saved by a knock to her office door. I turn my attention back to the Burberry shots when someone walks in. I hate the photos. I look good, of course, but they’re dull as shit. If I had a choice in the matter, I’d shake it up a bit. Burberry trench coat with nothing underneath is a classic look in my opin—

“Sorry to interrupt…”

My head shoots around when I realise the voice belongs to Percy. Seeing him unexpectedly makes my heart do an embarrassingly large leap, despite the fact I saw him less than an hour ago.

“Hi!” I blurt out, slightly too high-pitched.

He grins at me, holding up a coffee and a paper bag. “I ended up at the Starbucks over the road, so I just thought I’d pop—”

Felicity clears her throat, and he turns to look at her.

“Oh! Sorry!” He hands off the coffee and bag to me and leans over her desk, holding out his hand. “So nice to finally meet you! I’ve heard so much about you.”

“All bad things,” I mumble. They both ignore me.

“I’m Percy.”

She shakes his hand politely, looking confused. “Yes, I know who you are…”

“Apparently so do half of your colleagues.” He gives me a bashful smile. “I got given three business cards just walking through the office!”

“Don’t do it. They’re all charlatans.”

Felicity shoots me a look, then looks back at Percy. “It’s lovely to meet you, are you… _staying_ , or?”

“No! No. You two carry on. I’ll leave you to it. I just saw that...” He motions to the paper bag. “And thought of you.”

I look inside, pulling out a round gingerbread cookie that’s iced like a football. Christ, I adore him. I give him a look and before I can say anything, he leans down and gives me a quick kiss.

“See you later, love.”

I smile at him for a second, before remembering where I am, and quickly looking at Felicity. She has one eyebrow raised, and for a moment I see a chilling flash of our father. Percy follows my gaze, looking at Felicity, then back at me. He clears his throat.

“She… you’ve not told her about us, have you?” I answer with a grimace and he rolls his eyes, leaning down to kiss me again. “You’re an idiot.”

He stands again, mouthing “sorry” to me before giving Feli a little wave, which she awkwardly returns, before he ducks back out of the office and closes the door behind him. I give her a sheepish look and she glares in response.

“So, when you say you’ve been ‘busy’…”

“Extremely busy.”

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “ _Monty_ …”

“Come on, Feli. This is a good thing! I mean… _look at him_. And he brought me a football cookie!”

“You sleeping with a teammate is never going to be a ‘good thing’. No matter how lovely they are.”

“So you think he’s lovely?” She blinks. “Anyway, I’m not ‘ _sleeping with_ ’ him! I mean I am. A lot. But it’s more than that! He’s my boyfriend.” She looks surprised and I sit back. “Wow. That’s the first time I’ve said that to anyone.”

“ _Boyfriend_?” I shrug. “Monty, you’ve never had a boyfriend. Or girlfriend.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you. Did you think I was going to be putting it about for my entire life?”

“I think that was everyone’s assumption, yes.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

My phone buzzes and I frown, taking it out and seeing a message from Percy. I quickly slide it open.

**_Percy:_ ** _did I get you in trouble?? :-/_

**_Me:_ ** _yes. if I don’t make it out alive, pls delete my browser history baby xx_

**_Percy:_ ** _lol. dickhead_

I don’t realise I’m grinning at my phone like an idiot until I hear Felicity scoff. I look back up at her.

“My god, Henry Montague is in love.” I narrow my eyes. “I can’t tell because I’m not important enough for my office to have windows, but I can only assume hell must have frozen over.”

“Don’t try to be funny. It’s very unsettling.” I put my phone away. “Just be happy for me? I mean for fuck’s sake, I’ve been so wrapped up in Percy, I’ve not had anything stronger than a glass of Rioja in a _month_. I’ve barely been out of the house. I’m basically a dream client. Also… ya know… I’m _happy_. _We’re_ happy. He’s been good for me.”

She watches me for a moment, as if she’s trying to work out if I’m bullshitting, then sighs, pulling open her laptop.

“Just… hear me out for a moment, okay?”

I frown as she starts typing, looking for something. After a couple of minutes, she turns the laptop towards me.

“This is a tweet from Leicester City’s account yesterday, about the Rainbow Laces campaign. Read the replies.”

I give her a look, then sip the coffee Percy brought me as I scroll through some of the replies. Aside from the occasional message of support, dotted with rainbow flag emojis, most of the responses are overwhelmingly negative. Everything from the eternally ignorant “keep politics out of football, unfollowed” type tweets to the truly disgusting and hateful. I swallow hard and look up at her.

“Do you think I’m not aware of this? Why do you think I pay you to keep my sexuality out of the press?”

“I know you’re aware of it. That’s why you need to make sure you’re prepared for this reaction.” She takes the laptop out. “When you come out.”

“Who says I’m coming out?”

She raises an eyebrow. “I saw the way you looked at him. Are you really planning on hiding indoors with him forever?”

“I could live with it. We have a very nice time indoors.” She rolls her eyes. “Feli, I know you mean well, but honestly... it’ll be fine. We’ll figure it out.”

“Right. Of course.” She taps her nails on her desk, assessing me again. “That was my publicist advice. Do you want my sister advice?”

“Not particularly.”

“Please be careful, Monty.” I scowl slightly. “With yourself, I mean.”

“I’m not a child, Feli. I’m perfectly capable of…”

“I’m just… I’m scared of what will happen if something goes wrong. What you’ll do.”

I frown. “Why is something going wrong? Am I incapable of having something good?”

“No. Of course not. Just… please don’t get carried away. That’s all.”

“Is this normal advice for a new relationship? ‘ _Don’t get too into it, if he dumps you, you’ll probably kill yourself’_?”

She flinches. “Monty…”

“I appreciate the sentiment. But you need to let us figure this out for ourselves. We care about each other. That’s the important thing. Isn’t it?”

She hesitates, then nods. I want to scream at her. Tell her I hate her for seeing that doubt in me, for seeing the situation for exactly what it is. For the sake of my sanity, however, I swallow my pride and ignore the familiar wave of panic that’s gnawing into my stomach. I force my biggest smile.

“Anyway. Perhaps you can help me.”

She narrows her eyes. “How?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day. I need to make it special.”

“Christ, you really are far gone.” She folds her arms. “How exactly could _I_ help with that?”

“Logistics, really. I have a gift, but I want to do something else. Something romantic. I need some extra hands and… well… now you know about us. So I don’t have to pay one of my building’s cleaners to stay quiet.”

“It sounds like that’s something you have experience in.” I open my mouth and she cuts me off. “ _Don’t_ tell me. Plausible deniability, remember?”

“Are you going to help or not?”

She pauses. “If you do something for me.” I raise an eyebrow at her. “Meet with dad.”

“Nope.”

“Monty, _please_. I know he’s given up on getting you to answer the phone, because now he’s hounding _me_.” She puts on a gruff voice and a slight French accent. “ _Where is Henry? I know you have seen Henry. He is avoiding me like a petulant child’_. It’s driving me insane.”

“You’re really not selling this to me, Feli. I’m a grown adult, with my own money, and I do not need to come running when dad barks at me anymore.”

“You don’t! I agree! And I know you don’t get on.”

Fuck me, that’s an understatement. Sometimes I wonder if she has any real idea.

“But for the sake of the family, and the sake of my sanity…” She holds her hands together in prayer. “Pleeeeaaaaasssee? For me? I’m sure it will be over quickly!”

How did this meeting go so sideways? She pouts at me, batting her eyelashes, and I hate her more than anything.

“Fine. _Fine_! I’ll deal with it. Soon.”

“When?”

“ _Soon_. Mention it again and I’ll change my mind.”

She mimes zipping her mouth closed. I nod, then sit back, cracking my knuckles.

“Right. Now. Romance.”

She huffs slightly. “My favourite subject.”

**PERCY**

Monty’s doorman knows me by now. I often wonder how much people in his position are paid to keep their mouths shut about the comings and goings of the building’s residents. I also often wonder if I’m the first person he’s seen visit Monty’s penthouse on more than one occasion, but I try not to dwell on that.

I head up in the lift once he waves me in, checking my reflection in the mirrored wall. I’m fresh from the Barber and he’s cut my hair a little shorter than I’m used to. Knowing how much he enjoys hanging on to it, I’m hoping Monty won’t be too disappointed.

I step out when the elevator opens and immediately frown. It’s dark. I take my phone out of my pocket to check I have the correct time, but before I can check, some small lights flicker on. I look up and see fairy lights draped over the huge floor to ceiling windows. There’s the unmistakable scent in the air of the ridiculously overpriced candles Monty buys, and music is playing.

It takes me a second to realise it’s my favourite Florence and the Machine album.

I walk over to the living room and see Monty. He’s moved one of the sofas out of the way and spread some of his huge faux fur throws across the floor like a picnic blanket. He’s sat cross-legged on them and amongst a pile of cushions, a bottle of champagne in one hand and a glass in the other, giving me a sheepish grin.

“Hello, darling. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Monty…” I look around again. I’m too shocked to put a proper sentence together, so I go with: “What the fuck?”

I look at the coffee table and notice it’s filled with plates of what seems to be a huge range of international cuisine. Mexican, Chinese, Indian and Thai, which is my absolute favourite.

I point at it. “Did you….?”

He laughs. “Absolutely not. But I didn’t know what you’d want, so I just ordered one of fucking everything.”

“Sweetheart…” His face lights up at the name and I go over to him properly, kneeling down in front of him and taking his face in my hands, giving him a long kiss. “Thank you.”

He grins. “You like it then?”

“Yes, you idiot.” He hands me the glass of champagne he just poured and I arrange myself so I’m sitting comfortably. “But I thought we settled on not doing anything?”

“I wanted to do something special. And when I set my mind to something, it always happens.” He motions to me. “You are a fine example.”

“You set your mind to me?”

“Yes, I did. Although I was just about to give up on the idea before you pushed me into that toilet cubicle and shoved your han—“

“No need to go into details, Mont. I remember it vividly.”

He grimaces slightly. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing to remember vividly. I was having a pretty good time until we started shouting at each other.”

“I know. But I’m just…sorry that was our first time. Not terribly romantic.”

I smile slightly. “Well, I don’t count it as our first time. Not really.”

“Rewriting our history so I feel like less of a piece of shit? I’m all for that idea.”

I laugh. “Monty. No self-deprecation tonight. Please.” I look around. “This is amazing. You’re amazing.”

**MONTY**

I don’t feel amazing.

Yes, the penthouse looks beautiful, the food looks good, and my hair successfully did that thing tonight that I know he likes, but something about it feels… forced. Like I’m trying too hard.

The way he’s looking at me like I hung the stars and the moon, though? Perhaps he’s not noticed.

I lean in and kiss him, moving a hand into his hair. I pause slightly and pull back enough to look at him.

“You cut it?”

“Only a bit!” He says defensively.

I smirk and take a proper look at it. I’m obsessed with Percy’s hair. He gets bored of it easily and is at the barber once a week, always coming back with some new creative style that I can run my hands through.

“Hmm.” I reach up and tug at one of the curls that are flopping over his forehead. “I approve.”

“Yours needs a cut.” He pushes my hair out of my eyes and I pout. “It’s covering your eyes.”

“That’s kind of my thing, darling.”

“I don’t care. I want to see your eyes.”

He leans his forehead against mine and we stay like that for a moment, just looking. The light from the fairy lights Felicity helped me hang across the windows is making the freckles under his eyes shimmer slightly, and the sight of it is almost hypnotising. Eventually, I snap out of it and kiss his nose.

“I got you something.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Monty, you’ve already done so much…”

“Shut up. I’m rich. I got you something.”

I reach under one of the cushions next to me and pull out a small box. I hand it to him, and he takes a deep breath before opening it. It’s a gold bracelet. It was expensive. From the look on his face, I think he can tell.

“Jesus Christ…” He takes it out of the box, holding it up. “Monty, are these fucking… _diamonds_?”

“Perhaps.” He gawks at me, then looks at the bracelet again. “You like?”

“It’s _beautiful_. No one’s ever bought me jewellery before.” He tilts his head. “Well, my ex got me a nose ring once from a market in Brighton once, but it turned my nose green…”

I grin. “Here. I’ll put it on you.”

I take it from him and undo the clasp, he holds out his wrist and I put it on him, turning it so the section with black diamonds is facing up. I lean down and gently kiss his knuckles.

“It looks good on you.”

He’s blushing.

“I love it.” He sighs slightly. “People are going to ask me where it’s from.”

I frown. “You don’t have to wear it in public, I suppose.”

“I want to, though. I want to show it off.” He sits back, spreading out his legs on either side of mine. “We still haven’t discussed this.”

“Discussed what, darling?” I know exactly what he means. But if I can delay the conversation for even a few more seconds, it’s worth a try.

“Us. Telling people about this.”

“Ah. Yes.” I pick up his hand again, playing with the bracelet and avoiding his intense gaze. “You want to come out.”

“I didn’t say that, love. I just think we should talk about it.” He gently grabs my chin, tilting my face up to his. “I know it will be hard. But… I’m serious about this. About you. I just want you to know that.”

Fuck. He’s so beautiful. And this is so unfair. What if we come out, and the pressure is too much? What if he gets thrown into the tabloid mess that I’ve made of my life, and it freaks him out? What if the fans turn on us? Am I worth that? I can’t be worth that. This career means more to him than it will ever mean to me and he’s risking it for what? An amazing fuck and a six grand bracelet?

Could I really let him do that?

“I’m happy.” Is what I say, because I’m the worst fucking person in existence. “Like this.”

He frowns and my heart sinks. “So am I, Monty. But—”

I cut him off. “Come on, baby. This is a romantic night. Let’s just enjoy it, shall we?” I motion to the coffee table. “Are you hungry?”

He takes a deep breath, clearly trying to shake off his annoyance that I’m trying to avoid a serious conversation. Yet again.

“I am. But I actually…” He grimaces, and a blush creeps back onto his cheeks. “I got you something too. But now I’m too embarrassed to give it to you because it cost me five quid.”

I smirk, grateful he’s accepted the subject change. “Oh, darling! It’s the thought that counts.” I hold out my hand. “Gimme.”

He laughs and goes into his pocket and pulls out a small keyring, placing it on my palm. I give him a look, then turn it over. It’s a picture of him. _The_ picture of him. The one I saw on his Instagram that night which nearly made me fall off my bar stool. He’s had it made into a _bloody keyring_. I look up at him and he’s grinning at me.

“You are an absolute bastard.”

He laughs. “You like?”

“You’re worried about people asking about a bracelet, and you expect me to walk around with a naked man hanging off of my keys?”

“I _think_ you’ll find I’m fully dressed in that picture.” I narrow my eyes at him. “I just know you’re a big fan of it, so I thought… now you can keep it with you, always!”

“I hate you.”

“I know you do.”

“Thank you.” I lean over and clasp the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “Five pounds well spent.”

“You’re worth every penny.”

I roll my eyes slightly and he grins, moving forward to kiss me again and climbing into my lap so that he’s straddling me.

“Steady on, darling. The food will go cold.”

“You have a microwave, right?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “It’s just that last time we were so _rudely_ interrupted by my nausea…”

“That’s true.” He leans in again, biting my bottom lip and I sigh. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby…”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Monty.”

He kisses me again and pushes me down.


	10. Stronger Than Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monty finally meets with his father. It goes as well as can be expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *upside down smiley face*
> 
> Content warnings etc at the end of the chapter this time!

**MONTY**

Percy doesn’t ‘do’ selfies. With a face that perfect, I think it’s a crime, so I drag him into as many of my own selfies as possible. The photos are just for us, of course (as well as some others that he has forced me to password protect - not that I blame him). The selfie I’m looking at now is my favourite.

Percy is grinning widely at the camera, and I’m behind him, leaning over his shoulder and turning my face into his to bite him on the cheek. We both look as gorgeous as we do happy.

I’m thinking of posting it.

I’ve had it sitting in my Instagram drafts for a week, with the incredibly cheesy caption; “ _I’ve heard that couples that play together, stay together? Let’s find out @percy_newton_ ” followed by, God help me, a football emoji and a bunch of rainbow hearts.

I would never post it without consulting Percy (and, somehow, more importantly, consulting my sister) but I can’t stop looking at it. One little post would change my entire life. Change both of our lives. Neither of us has dared broach the subject of going public since Valentine’s Day, and things have been… fine. We’re still inseparable, and I’m still utterly obsessed with him, but the longer we go without talking about our future, the more all the things that have been left unsaid have started to itch under my skin.

I’m ‘home’ for the first time in months. Home being the house I grew up in, a huge townhouse about an hour outside of Wratham, where my parents still live with my teenage brother, Adrian. (Adrian has even less interest in football than I do, so we’ve barely spoken since I moved out).

I’m sat on a seat in the hallway outside my dad’s office. Mum greeted me on the way out of the house. I can only pray she wasn’t just leaving to avoid a Henri Montague meltdown and actually had somewhere to be.

I’m still staring at the photo, at Percy’s smile in particular, when his door swings open. I put my phone in my pocket and look up. My dad isn’t particularly tall, in fact, I inherited my below average height from his side of the family. What he lacks in stature, however, he makes up for in pure intimidation.

He says nothing, but there’s always a hint of violence in his eyes that’s hard to ignore. He steps aside pointedly and I get up, walking into his office and taking the seat opposite his desk. He closes the door with a loud thud and I flinch slightly, to my embarrassment. He walks over and sits down, wordlessly picking up a pile of paper and throwing it down on the desk in front of me. I frown and pick up one of the pages. I feel the blood rush to my face as I see a familiar screenshot.

_‘i can’t get high and hook up with people in club toilets, it’s not who i am.”_

Fuck. I look up at him, my voice comes out as a slight choke. “Where did— where did you get this?”

“I was sent it.” He slams down another piece of paper. It’s the email, the same one Percy and I received. “I was _blackmailed_ , Henry. Because of your recklessness.”

I take a deep breath. “This was… months ago.”

“Do you think I don’t know that? Do you not recall me calling your phone? Emailing you? Even your sister could not get hold of you.” He sits back. “I would ask you what you’ve been doing, but if these messages are to be believed, I would prefer to remain ignorant.”

I scowl slightly. “I’ve not been _doing_ anything. And I’m sorry you got dragged into it, but really it’s nothing to do with—”

“ _It has everything to do with me_.” He cuts me off and his voice sends a jolt through my spine.

My dad hasn’t hit me in years. Not since I became famous, and visible, and I started lifting weights. Before that though? When I was a child, right up to when I was a skinny, rebellious teenager? The beatings were regular and brutal.

I lost an adult tooth when I was 16 to a particularly heavy punch. Thankfully I could afford to have it replaced with an implant. I still have a scar on my hip from where he knocked me l into a glass coffee table when I was eight. Percy asked me about it the other night (no one ever has before, although plenty have seen it) and I told him I got it when I fell out of a tree. Then he kissed it, and I temporarily forgot how awful it felt to lie to him.

Since I left home, I’ve managed to successfully avoid my dad almost entirely. When we do occasionally meet, however, it tends to be such an unpleasant encounter that the days following it are usually spent trying to remove it from my memory with a cocktail of booze, drugs and strangers tumbling into my bed.

Turns out, Henri Montague is just as skilled at getting under my skin as he ever was at breaking it.

“You are going to rehab.”

I laugh before I can stop myself. “No. Absolutely not.”

“That wasn’t a request, Henry.” He jabs his finger into the paper in front of me, so hard I’m surprised his finger doesn’t break. “This is unacceptable. You have embarrassed me time and time again, and this time your behaviour has cost me one hundred grand.”

“I earn that in three days. I’ll pay you back. But I don’t need to go to rehab.”

He glares right through me, and goes to speak again but is interrupted by my phone vibrating in my pocket. I fish it out, my hand trembling slightly, and look at the screen. 

“It’s Feli. Should I—”

Dad grabs the phone from me before I can finish and I watch as he presses decline. My heart stops when the call disappears and the screen shows the post of me and Percy. Fuck. I hadn’t locked my phone.

He stares at it, then scrolls down to read the caption. I see redness start to creep into his cheeks and I swallow.

“What is this?” He demands. 

I’m too in shock to answer, so I pointlessly hold out my hand, motioning for him to give it back. He doesn’t, and he turns his glare to me.

“This is _him_? From the messages?” I nod, feeling numb. “Is this a joke?”

Finally, I manage to speak. But all I manage is a weak “No..”

“Your teammate.” He throws the phone back at me. I flinch as it misses me by a centimetre and hits the carpet behind me. “If you think you’re going to go public with this nonsense, you are even stupider than I thought.”

I take a deep breath. “This _nonsense_ is my life. And I don’t have to hide it forever.”

He scoffs. “You think this is brave, don’t you? That everyone will fall at your knees for being stupid enough to get high and muck around with your teammates just because you’re both men?”

“No, dad. I don’t think everyone will fall at my knees. In fact, I’m _fucking_ terrified. Does that make you happy?”

“Do _not_ speak to me like that. And you should be terrified. Because I will not let this happen. I’m not going to sit by and watch my son make a mockery of this sport.”

I glare at him. “How does me being in love make a mockery of anything?”

He starts at this, staring at me, then much to my horror, he laughs. 

“ _In love?_ ” He keeps laughing, leaning back in his chair. “You have no idea how to be in love.”

I think of my parents’ relationship. How I never saw an ounce of affection between them. How some nights I heard my mum screaming at him until her voice was hoarse. How sometimes, I’d go weeks without seeing them in the same room. I’m not prepared to take lessons on love from someone who’s capable of nothing but hate. 

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you well enough to know you’re an addict. This is just your latest obsession. When you’re not shoving poison up your nose or getting blackout drunk, you’re humiliating yourself by shagging anyone that pays you the slightest bit of attention. Now someone is stupid enough to hang around for longer than one night and immediately you think you’re ‘ _in love_ ’.”

He’s wrong. I deserve this. Don’t I? I deserve to be happy as much as anyone. 

“And say you were stupid enough to be in love with a _man_ , are you really worth it?” He says ‘man’ as if it leaves a foul taste in his mouth. I swallow hard, trying to look unbothered. “Worth the risk of him losing his career? Potentially millions in promotions? Worth him being ostracised?”

He smirks at me, as if he knows he’s successfully getting to me. “Well at least when he realises what a waste of space you are, you can go back to your beloved cocaine. Then you’re only fucking up your own life. And you’ve had plenty of experience with that.”

I shake my head. “I’m a grown fucking man. I don’t have to listen to this.”

I get up, grabbing my phone from the floor and shoving it in my pocket. When I straighten up, dad has already gotten up too and is headed straight for me. Before I can move away, he grabs me by both of my arms, backing me into the wall. I gasp and try to fight him off, but he holds tight. 

“When you are in _my_ house, you do as _I_ say. And I am telling you this is _not_ how this is going to happen.”

“Dad…” I can feel my heart pounding in my temples. “Please.”

“Do you think I want to touch you?” He curls his lip, looking disgusted. “Knowing where you’ve been?”

I see a flash of red and before I can stop myself, I pull my head back as far as I can and spit into his face. 

He looks shocked, and I feel the colour drain from my face. The shock turns to an expression that’s angrier than I’ve ever seen him, and he pulls my arms forward then slams me backwards, my head hitting the wall so hard that I feel it in my teeth. 

“You _ever_ disrespect me like that again and I’ll—“

“You’ll what, dad?” I try unsuccessfully to hide the tremor in my voice. “You going to kill me this time?” 

He glares, and doesn’t answer, so I take the opportunity to muster up all of my strength and push him away. He stumbles back slightly and before he can steady himself, I yank the door open and run. 

I hear him yelling after me as I charge through the hallway of the house, nearly colliding with my brother as he comes out of the kitchen to see what’s happening. 

“Monty, what the _fuck?”_

I don’t stop, but I throw a look back at him as I reach the front door. “Get out of here. As soon as you fucking can.”

————————————

I barely notice the drive back to the city, my body must be operating on muscle memory, as before I know it, I’m pulling up outside an off-license and leaving my car on the kerb. I ignore the stares as I go inside, heading straight to the counter and pulling out my wallet, looking at the cashier.

“Vodka.” I motion to the shelf behind him. “The big one.”

He blinks at me, looking shocked, then nods and turns around, grabbing the biggest bottle from the shelf then putting it down on the counter. 

“Anything else?”

“Not unless you sell coke.”

He pauses. “I mean, not officially bu—“

“Just the fucking vodka.”

He rings me up and I hand him a fifty, grabbing the bottle and walking out before he can give me change.

I climb back in the car and open the bottle, immediately taking a huge swig. It’s disgusting, cheap shit and it burns my throat. I welcome the burn, as it’s the most I’ve felt of anything since I walked out of my parents’ house an hour ago. 

I pull out my phone and open Instagram, going into my drafts and finding the post again. I look at Percy, at his beautiful brown eyes, and suddenly all I can see is his face contorted in anger. And disappointment. I can picture how he’s going to look at me once I let him down. Once I cheat on him. Once I lie. Once I finally fuck up so badly, he no longer wants to be around me.

My dad may be a disgusting, homophobic piece of shit but he’s right. And if I can spare myself from ever having to see that look on Percy’s face, if I end it now, it will be kinder for both of us. He can go on to be a superstar, and I’ll have the life that I deserve too; a lonely, fucked up one.

I take two deep breaths, then delete the post. I go into my contacts, skimming through for a name I haven’t contacted for a while, then pressing dial. 

“ _Hello_?”

“It’s Monty. I need a gram. Where are you?”

“ _Fuck. I’m around but I just sold my last bag._ ”

I clench my first and press it into my forehead. Of course he did. 

“What _do_ you have? Anything?”

He pauses for a second. “ _Pills? Been really popular lately, they’ll get you nice and fucked._ ”

I roll my eyes. I hate pills. “Fine. I’ll drop you my location, just hurry up.”

I hang up and send him a message with my location, then take another swig of the vodka. 

I know I should talk to Percy face to face. But I also know I can’t. If I see him, his mouth will be right there. I’ll kiss him, and he’ll make love to me, and we’ll both be yet another step deeper into this inevitable shitshow of a relationship. 

So instead of driving to his apartment, I go to my contacts again and find his name. I press my head against the cold glass of the window, screwing my eyes tightly closed, then press _call_.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings. He’s not answering. He’s not fucking answering.

After five rings, it goes to voicemail. I glance at the clock on my dashboard. It’s already eleven. He’s asleep. Of course, he’s asleep. He loves his sleep. I should be there, sleeping with him. Or being awake with him. Instead, I’m doing this.

If I hang up now, I’ll lose my nerve. What little is left of it. The message tone beeps and I take a long breath.

“Baby, it’s me.”

My voice catches on ‘ _me_ ’, but there’s no way to take it back now. This is happening.

“I know you’re asleep, but— but I need to talk to you. And I think if I hang up, I’ll never get up the nerve to do this. So it’s… it’s happening. It’s happening like this.” I take a couple of seconds to swallow down what feels like bile rising in my throat. “I can’t do this with you. I have to stop pretending that I’m capable of… of this. Of any of it.

Every day that we’ve had together, I’ve been waiting for it to come crashing down around me and it hurts so much, Percy. It hurts watching you trust me, and look at me like I could never break you. But I could break you. I will break you. It’s not an _if_ , it’s a _when_. I’m a ticking time bomb and you don’t deserve this, you deserve…

Baby, you deserve a real person, a real boyfriend, a real partner. Not a mess. Not a— a fucking alcoholic. A piece of shit who can’t keep it in his pants, who can’t even _begin_ to remember how many people he’s fucked. You’re so good. You’re so good and perfect. So beautiful and kind and you take care of me and you make me feel…”

I sit back further in my seat, closing my eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths.

“You deserve someone as decent as you. Someone you can trust. Someone you can depend on. Someone who isn’t always on the verge of _wrecking_ everything. 

We need to stop before we get any more tangled up in each other. Percy, I have to stop. It’ll hurt less if we do this now.”

What I want to say, what I can’t say is… _If I fall any further in love with you, and it ends, it’ll tear me apart._

“Percy. Sweetheart. You’re so passionate about everything and you love this job and you’ve worked so hard to get to where you are. I’m not worth this. I’m a train wreck. Don’t risk losing everything you have for me. You’re going to be amazing, and legendary, and soon you won’t even remember this stupid little phase. I swear it. 

“You’ll be okay.” My voice is quieter now. All of the energy feels like it’s been drained from my body. “You’ll be okay because you’re strong. You’re stronger than me. You always have been. 

I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. Bye.”

I hang up, and throw my phone onto the passenger seat like it’s burned me. I jump when there’s a knock on the window next to me. I look over and see Pete, my dealer. 

I huff, rubbing my face and winding down the window. He looks around us, as if I’m not conspicuous enough parked on the kerb in a classic Porsche, then hands me a bottle of pills. I don’t say a word, going into my wallet and grabbing some notes, tossing them at him. 

He frowns slightly, bending down to pick up the ones that have fallen onto the pavement. 

“Cheers. Shit mate, I forgot how wicked your car is. Is it—“

I wind the window up before he can finish, and take a look at the pills in my hand. I open up the bottle and tip a couple into my mouth, then take another swig of vodka to wash them down. 

————————————

I look up at the Bourbon’s house from where I’m standing on the pavement next to my car. Jeanne wasn’t answering her phone, but for some reason I need to see her. Talk to her. Maybe… I don’t know. I need something. Anything to stop me thinking. 

I press the intercom for a second time and her voice finally comes through the speaker. 

“ _What?_ ” She hisses.

“Jeanne! Mon Ami! Why were— why did you not answer?” 

“ _Merde!”_ There's a pause and she unlocks the door. “ _Stay down there! I’ll be down in a moment._ ”

I push the door open and stagger slightly as I go inside. The foyer is ridiculous. Checkerboard floors and gold and rose decor. The classic WAG style. In my current state, it makes my stomach twist. 

I hear hurried footsteps and I look up as Jeanne comes down the stairs wearing a robe and pyjamas, her face bare and her hair scraped up into a bun. She looks beautiful, but so different from the Jeanne I usually see that I barely recognise her. She also looks furious. 

“He is _here,_ you idiot. What the fuck are you thinking?”

I grimace slightly, trying to keep my voice as quiet as possible, but not being very successful. “Oooops! Sorry! I missed you!”

She growls, grabbing my arm and pulling me back so that we’re as far from the stairs as possible, then whispering to me. 

“You have not _missed me._ You have… what is the word? Spooked me!”

I snort. “Ghosted.”

She shoves me. “Do not laugh at me, Montague. Tell me why you are here.”

I tilt my head slightly, giving her what I hope is a seductive smile, although it feels a little bit wonky. 

“You know why I’m here…”

I reach out and tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear and she scowls, batting my hand away. 

“You are _drunk_. And my husband is upstairs. Go home. Sleep.”

“Come ooonnn, Mon Ami.” I pout at her. “I just— just need a quick one. To distract me.”

She glares. “You are becoming less attractive by the second.”

“Quick ones are good! Remember when we screwed against the lockers that time? That was—“

Before I can finish, I hear a crash and Jeanne gasps as an expensive looking vase hits the wall a metre away from us. 

Somehow, Duke has made it down the stairs without either of us noticing. Before I can even fully register him, I’m slammed against the wall for the second time in the space of two hours. 

“You have two fucking seconds to explain yourself,” he practically spits into my face. 

Somehow, I did not foresee this scenario. 

“Uhh. I uh—“

“Time’s up.”

He pulls back and punches me, hard, catching my cheekbone. Pain shoots through my entire face and I see a flash of white, then he lets go and I sink down against the wall, holding my face. Something’s bleeding. I picture the huge rings Duke wears and wonder if one of them caught my skin. 

“Duke!” I manage to look up and Jeanne has grabbed his arm, attempting to pull him away. He pushes her off with barely any effort and I wince as he gets to me again, grabbing my arms and pulling me back up. 

“I’m—“ I can’t speak. My stomach feels like it’s turned inside out. And my face _hurts_. “I’m-—“

“You’re what? _Sorry?_ You will be fucking sorry, Montague. You’re off the team. Good luck finding another one when people find out you like to fuck the manager’s missus.”

“No. I’m— I’m gonna throw up.”

He quickly backs away and I heave slightly, but somehow nothing comes up. I manage to stand up straight and reach behind me, trying to find the door. 

“Go on then. Run, you little shit. This isn’t over.”

Jeanne has managed to grab hold of him again, and this time he’s letting her hold him back. I can only imagine it’s because I look so pitiful I’m not even worth hitting again. 

Before he can change his mind, I open the door and duck out. It slams behind me and I sway slightly when the fresh air hits my face, swallowing down another heave and going to my car, fumbling for my keys. 

  
  


————————————

“Jesus _Christ_ , Monty.”

Percy’s voice. Percy’s standing in front of me. 

At some point I’ve made it to his apartment door and now he’s standing in front of me, looking at me like I’ve... well, like I’ve shown up wasted and bleeding. 

I say nothing and he takes me by my arms. He’s gentle, but I still flinch. I think I’m bruised by the far less delicate hands of men who have grabbed me today. 

He leads me inside, kicking the door shut and leading me to the sofa, sitting me down. My head is swimming and I try to focus on him. 

“Why am I here?”

He frowns. “Monty, you’re hurt. What _happened_?”

“Did you—“ I stare at him, trying to piece something together. “Did we speak? Earlier, did I—“

He swallows, rubbing his hand over his face. “You left me a voicemail. I uhm… I listened to it. Just before you got here.”

“A voicemail.”

He nods, avoiding my gaze. Oh yes. That. I did that. I really did that. 

“Baby—“

He cuts me off. “ _Don’t_.” He finally looks at me. He looks pale. “Just… wait here.”

He gets up, disappearing into his bathroom. I look over and see Yardstick sitting a distance away from the sofa. She’s staring at me. I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen her without her immediately running over for a cuddle. I really must look like shit. 

Percy comes back out with a first aid box, kneeling in front of me and gently holding my chin, tilting my face into the light. He picks up a cotton wool gauze and dips it in alcohol, gently holding it against my cheek. I wince. 

“You’ve been cut. It needs to be clean.” He works gently, wiping the rest of my cheek. It’s throbbing, but having Percy’s hands on my face soothes some of the pain. I watch him carefully but he avoids eye contact. I see the muscle in his cheek twitching, as if he’s trying hard not to speak. 

“I’m sorry...”

“Who did this?” He sits back, looking at me. “You need to tell me.”

I swallow. “Duke.”

“ _Duke?_ ” He frowns, confused. “Why would Duke hit you?”

I reach up to touch my cheek and he kneels forward again, grabbing my hand before I can reach it to stop me, then drops it like it’s given him an electric shock. I frown and take a deep breath. 

“He found out about us.”

“He— why would he hit you because of us?”

“Not _us._ Me and Jeanne.”

He stares, his brow furrowed. And my heart sinks. He didn’t know. I never told him. 

“Who is Jean— Monty.” I see the penny drop. He somehow looks even paler. “Jeanne Bourbon?”

I don’t answer. But my silence seems to be enough.

“You’re sleeping with her.”

“No! No. Baby I was—“

“ _Don’t_ call me that. Jesus!” He pulls himself up and runs his hands through his hair. “Fuck, Monty! You leave me a voicemail which is… what? You _dumping me_ over the phone for some bullshit reason because you’re too scared to do it face to face.” He starts pacing and I watch him, my stomach starts to turn again. “And suddenly you’re _here_?! Bleeding? Because you got caught fucking the gaffer’s wife? What about the _team_? Have you lost your job?”

“Percy, I can—“

“You can what? Explain? I’d really like to hear this Monty. Explain. Please.”

“I’m not sleeping with Jeanne! I swear. I… I used to be. Before you. I’ve not been with anyone since you, I promise. We were just talking tonight and he… overheard.”

He laughs, sounding miserable. “And I’m meant to believe that?”

“Yes! Percy no, I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m starting to think there’s no low you wouldn’t sink to.”

I flinch. He does too. “I didn’t want to do it like that. The voicemail, I just…”

“What? Chickened out?”

I swallow and nod. “I’m a coward, okay? I’m scared and stupid and I’m…”

“Just… stop with the self-deprecating shit for one second. Why wouldn’t you tell me about her? If it was over?”

“Because! I was—“ I pause and he raises his eyebrows at me, waiting. “I was fucking _ashamed_.”

“Then why did you go there tonight?”

I stare at him. Trying to think of an answer that isn’t as disgusting as the truth - I wanted sex. Meaningless, stupid sex. I wanted to screw someone’s brain out and not think about Percy. Not think about my life. 

“I don’t know.”

He stares down at me and I feel two feet tall. After a moment, he runs his hands through his hair again, looking around. I can feel my eyes getting heavy. 

“You need to go.”

“Go. Mmm. Yeah.” I nod, standing up and immediately staggering back onto the sofa. He flinches, moving to help me then stopping himself when he sees I’ve landed okay. I start clumsily searching for my car keys. “Need to leave.”

He scowls as he watches me. “How did you get here, Monty?”

I find the keys and lift them up to show him. “Car. I think.”

His eyes widen. “You _drove_ here?”

I shrug. “Yeah… “

“Monty, you’re fucking… _wasted_! Please tell me this is a joke.”

I shake my head, pointing towards the window. “See for yourself…”

He glares at me then walks to the window, looking out to where my Porsche is parked on the kerb. He groans and bumps his head against the glass. 

“You idiot. You absolute fucking...” He looks back at me. “You could have died. Or killed someone. Do you even _care_?”

I close my eyes, rubbing my head. “I’ve done it loads, it’s fine.”

“Christ, Monty…”

I look at the sofa cushions. They look cosy. If I could just… rest my eyes for a minute.

“ _Monty…”_

He sounds like he’s far away. I wonder where he went? I should look. I’ll look. After everything stops being so dark. 

  
  


————————————

I wake up in Percy’s bed with the biggest headache I’ve ever had in my entire life. I can barely open my eyes, and when I finally do, the tiny bit of light streaming in through the curtains feels like a dagger into my retinas. 

I roll over to ask him what the fuck happened, but his side of the bed is empty. And cold. I frown and rub my face, flinching when my hand reaches my cheek. _Fuck._ What the fuck?

I slowly sit up and a memory hits me. A fist. And shouting. Lots of shouting. Something happened. I need to find Percy. 

I look down and frown when I realise I’m still fully dressed, dragging myself into the en-suite bathroom for a piss. I glance up at the mirror and start when I see my face. It looks even worse than it feels. I must have sincerely pissed someone off. Even more than usual.

I wash my hands and then head into the living room. I see Percy in the kitchen making breakfast and I smile slightly, even though moving my mouth at all causes a shooting pain straight through my cheek.

I quietly walk over and slide my hands around his waist from behind. 

He immediately tenses then turns his face towards me, gently pushing my arms away. I frown. His eyes are puffy and red-rimmed. Like he hasn’t slept a wink, or like he’s been crying, or possibly both.

“Percy…?”

I close my eyes suddenly as more blurry memories from last night flash through my head.

My father’s furious face, spit dripping down his cheek. “ _I can’t do this with you_.” A bottle of pills, spilt on my passenger seat. Duke’s fist.

I look up again, glancing around and seeing the sofa, covered in blankets and cushions. He put me to bed and he slept out here. Why would he—

“I hid these.” I look back at him and he’s holding out my car keys. His face is almost blank. “You might be happy to kill yourself, but I thought you’d prefer not to kill anyone else.”

I swallow and my gut churns. Everything is still falling together in my head, but from the look on Percy’s face…

I take the keys, nodding slightly. “Thank you.”

“You can go now.”

“Perc—”

“Please don’t come back here.”

I stare at him. He returns my gaze for a couple of moments, then turns back around back to the stove, turning it off and taking a pan of eggs off, putting it on the counter.

I watch him, too shocked to move, then eventually my feet decide to move for me, walking me over to the sofa where my shoes had been taken off. I sit down gingerly to pull them on, my head still throbbing. 

I stand up and glance back at the kitchen. He’s still not looking at me. His shoulders are as tense as I’ve ever seen them. 

I take a deep breath and walk out of the apartment. I lean against the wall of the lift as it goes down to the ground floor, trying to remember everything I did last night. Everything I said. I start to get more vague recollections; Jeanne, makeup-less and beautiful, streetlights blurring through my windscreen, random, nonsensical pieces of a voicemail. 

A _voicemail_. 

No wonder he can’t look at me. 

When I finally reach my car, I unlock it and sit in the passenger seat, staring out at the road. 

I tried to get out before I hurt him and I hurt him anyway. I hurt him more than I ever thought I could. 

I slam the steering wheel with my fist and lean my head against it, a sob escaping my lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Drug use, alchohol use, mentions of child abuse, violence, homophobia, HMS.... all the good shit.
> 
> Sorry. (Also thanks Milo for being such a great harbinger of doom and angst)


	11. Treasured Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy is left reeling from recent events, and Monty decides on the best way to move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is nearly over :-( 
> 
> Anyway, this is nowhere near as dramatic as the last chapter but it still made me sad. Content warnings, just the usual: References to alcohol and child abuse. Strong language and ANGST. 
> 
> Please comment. My life is very small.

**PERCY**

How is it possible to miss someone this much, but also never want to see them again?

I was sure I’d had my heart broken before; my first boyfriend (my first everything in fact) cheated on me when I was seventeen. I caught him going down on someone else at a party and, at the time, it felt like the worst moment of my life. 

Monty has made that night feel like one of my most treasured memories in comparison. 

The worst thing about how trampled I feel is that I saw this coming. I knew he was going to hurt me. I predicted how much falling for him was going to bite me in the arse but I let myself do it anyway. Actually, that isn’t the worst thing. The absolute worst thing is that I’d do it all over again. 

_“I know you’re asleep, but— but I need to talk to you. And I think if I hang up, I’ll never get up the nerve to do this. So it’s… it’s happening. It’s happening like this.”_

The first time I heard his message, it felt like a kick in the stomach. But I was still ready to talk it through with him, ask him why he felt that way. Tell him that he should have shared his doubts with me sooner so that we could work through these issues together. 

Then I saw him. Bruised. Drunk. High. Straight from the home of a woman he’d been sleeping with out of pure, childish spite. He went there to fuck her. Minutes after ending it with me. Before I’d even been given the opportunity to respond. 

Every time I listen to the message, the kick to my stomach gets harder. I feel doubled over and breathless, but I can’t seem to stop. 

I’ve moved my bed sheets to the sofa and I’m lying underneath them, while Yardstick is lying across my legs, fast asleep. I stare at my voicemails, my finger hovering over delete on Monty’s message. I hesitate, then scroll down to find more with his name. I press play on one from a few weeks ago. 

_“Hello, baby.”_ I close my eyes, holding the phone closer to me. _“You should never have told me you like being called ‘baby’. I’m going to end every sentence in this message with ‘baby’. I miss you, baby. Call me back, baby. I’m going to pick up some lunch but I don’t know what you fancy, I was thinking sushi. Baby. Shit.”_ He laughs and my stomach flips. _“Bye, baby.”_

I open my eyes, then play the next one, it’s only a few seconds long. I can hear the background noise of Monty’s Porsche, and he sounds flustered.

_“Hi. I’m five minutes away and I swear to God if you’re wearing a shred of clothing when I get there, I will tear it off with my t—“_

Before he finishes, the phone is snatched from my hands and the message is stopped. I look up at Sim, who’s standing over me scowling. 

“Right. That’s it.” She puts the phone in her back jeans pocket. “I’m cutting you off for the day.”

“Sim…”

“Nope!” She walks around the sofa, shoving at my legs. “Budge up.”

I sigh and spin my legs around to make space for her. Yardstick wakes up at the movement and mews slightly in protest as she jumps onto the floor. Sim drops down on the sofa next to me. 

“You need some fresh air, Newton.”

After Monty walked out, I called Sim and she was at my apartment within fifteen minutes. It’s now two weeks later, and apart from going back to her place to grab some more clothes and a toothbrush, she hasn’t left. 

“You also need to eat. I’m ordering pizza.”

“I’m not hungry.” She glares at me. “I’m not!”

“You’re losing weight. You’re going to eat some pizza. Even if I have to force it down your throat.”

I give her a fake smile. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I know you are.”

I lean over and kiss her cheek and she scrunches up her nose, pushing me away. I sigh again and sit back, running a hand through my hair. 

“He was on the news.” She frowns and I motion to the TV, which is now switched off. “He’s got a new team.”

“I don’t give a shit about his football career, Percy. And I swear to God, if I see his face on that TV, you’re gonna be needing a new one.”

It’s not the first threat of violence I’ve heard from Sim in regards to Monty during the last couple of weeks, and it definitely won’t be the last. It’s taken some effort, but I have managed to convince her that I’d prefer she didn’t break the nose of the man I’m desperately in love with, no matter what he might have done. 

“He hasn’t posted anything,” I continue. Ignoring her eye roll. “Online. About the transfer. Or… anything actually.”

“Probably because everyone knows he shagged his manager’s wife and he doesn’t want to get spammed with abuse.”

I swallow, playing with the corner of the blanket that’s wrapped around me. “Everyone doesn’t _know_ that. It’s just tabloid shit.”

She gives me a look. “Tabloid shit we know to be true, Percy.”

I pause. “He didn’t cheat on me. I don’t think.”

“I’m not sure who you’re trying to convince whenever you say that.” She shuffles closer to me. “I know you miss him. But eventually you’ll realise this is a good thing.”

I stare at her. Then point at my face. 

“Sim. Look at me. I've aged about thirty years in two weeks. I’ve barely slept. I have no appetite. I listen to the voicemail of him _dumping me_ twenty times a day just to hear his voice. In what way is any of this a good thing?”

“I said _eventually_.” I scoff and she gives me a sad smile. “Did you two ever…?”

She trails off and I rest my head on the back of the sofa, giving her a look. “Ever what?”

“Say it. Ya know. Tell eachother.”

“Oh.” I rub my hand across my face. “No. I wanted to. I guess I was just… scared he wasn’t in that place yet.” I pause and shrug. “Guess I was right.”

“I don’t know. I think he loved you. The way he looked at you was…” I take my hand away from my face and look at her. She grimaces. “Sorry. Not helpful.”

“If he loves me, he has a very unique way of showing it.” I look away from Sim, feeling suddenly sheepish. “I just— I want to know if he’s okay.”

“Oh, Newton. You are too much.” She slings an arm around my shoulder. “Worry about _you_ being okay. Not the guy that just waffle stomped your heart.”

“I’m just not sure he… has anyone.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“ _Sim_ …”

“Listen. Not everyone is as lucky to have friends as wonderful as me.” I scoff. She hits me. “But he’ll survive.” 

I swallow. “You wouldn’t sound so sure about that if you’d seen him that night.”

She sighs, turning to me and holding my face, squishing my cheeks slightly. “I love you. And I’m not going anywhere until you’re happy again.”

I smile. Or as much as I can smile with her hands compressing my face. “Might be a long wait.”

“That’s fine. Your apartment is much nicer than mine.”

  
  


\------------------------------

**MONTY**

I had no interest in signing for a new team at first. In fact I would have happily never played football again. But after a week of rotting in my penthouse, my fingers itching to wrap around a drink, my head throbbing from a combination of bruising and withdrawal, my mind replaying the look on Percy’s face as he told me to leave and never come back… I was more than ready for a distraction. 

Once I asked her to help, Felicity took to the task with surprising enthusiasm. Within two days she had three huge transfer offers on the table for me to choose from (Apparently my footballing ability trumped my tendency towards marriage wrecking) — I let her decide which one to go with. 

Porthampton is a seaside city, not far from Wratham, either geographically or in terms of the Premier League. I know the place well thanks to it having one of the biggest gay scenes in the UK (I have no idea if this played any part in Feli’s decision - somehow I doubt it). I can drive there. I don’t have to move out of my penthouse. I can play football again and not have to think. At this moment in my mess of a life, it sounds pretty ideal. 

The manager is a scruffy, but kind-faced man called Scipio. I’m currently sitting opposite him in his tiny office at Porthampton stadium, chewing the nail on my index finger to the hilt and not taking in a single thing as he tells me about the history of the team. 

“— so, as you can tell, we’re very excited to have you on board.” He smiles, then frowns when I don’t respond. “Monty? It is Monty you prefer, isn’t it?”

“Hmm?” I snap out of it, giving him my most polite fake smile. “Yes! It is. Yes. Sorry.”

“This probably all sounds boring to someone coming from Wratham United, but I assure you we’re a strong team. We have really high expectations for the next season.”

I fake an even bigger smile. “Doesn’t sound boring at all! Sounds fantastic. Can’t wait to get going.”

He smiles back, but there’s an element of disbelief in his eyes that I don’t miss. 

“Great. That’s great. Well, listen. Thanks for coming in today.”

He stands up and I frown, before standing up too. Was that it? Have I been here for ages and just completely phased out? Jesus Christ, Monty. Wake the fuck up. He walks around the desk, heading over to me and I try and shake out of my thoughts.

Then suddenly there’s a hand flying at me.

I flinch, and before I know it, the back of my legs have hit the chair and I land back down on it with a painful thud, sending it skidding a couple of feet across the floor. An image flashes in front of my eyes — my father, rage flickering in his eyes, shoving me against the wall and pulling back his fist. I throw my arms in front of my face and recoil when I feel someone touch my elbow. 

“Monty. Monty it’s okay, it’s—“

Someone is still touching me. I take a breath, realising it’s a gentle touch, and carefully move my arm away from where it’s covering my eyes. I blink a few times, trying to focus. 

Scipio. I’m still in Scipio’s office. 

“Are you with me, Monty?”

Did Scipio try and hit me? What did I do to him?

“What— what happened?”

He kneels down so that his face is level with mine. His eyes are wide with concern, but he’s calm. 

“I went to give you a hug. I suppose you thought… I don’t know what you thought.”

I close my eyes. _Fuck_ , I’m a mess. My first meeting with my new boss and I’ve humiliated myself within minutes. I want a drink. No. I want Percy. Both. I want a drink and I just wish he was _here_ so that I—

Before I know it, I’m sobbing. 

I’m full-on sobbing in front of my new manager. 

I feel the hand on my elbow squeeze slightly and I manage to look up at him, my voice cracking. 

“God. Sorry. Fuck.” I sniff, taking a breath and wiping my face, trying to stop. “This is ridiculous.”

“If you want to cry, I’m not going to stop you.”

“No, I’m…” I inhale deeply, willing myself to calm down. “I’m okay. I’m just— it’s been a shit couple of weeks.” 

I roll my eyes at those words. A shit couple of weeks. Like a bog standard ‘shit couple of weeks’ would make anyone into this much of a wreck. He just nods, and he doesn’t look remotely flustered by the fact a globally famous football player just burst into tears in the middle of his office. Damn him.

“We’ve all had those, Monty.” He gets up, cautiously, and walks back around to his chair. He sits down, resting his elbows on the desk and giving me a serious look. “I’ve been told I’m a good listener, you know.”

I frown at him, wiping my face. My hands are still shaking. “Why are you being so nice about this? I just made a complete tit of myself. On my first day. Not even my first day. _Minus_ first day.”

“What did you expect me to do? Toss you out?”

I hesitate for a few seconds, watching him. Then I swallow, pointing to my face. There’s still the small remnants of a bruise where Duke punched me. The cut is almost healed but still visible.

“My last manager did this. So you’ll forgive me if I’m a little bit jumpy.”

“Ah. Yes. Well.” He sits back in his chair. “I did hear about that. But don’t worry. I’m not married.”

I narrow my eyes. “What a relief.”

“My point is, I’m not Duke Bourbon. And you’re not the first player I’ve seen cry. You’re probably far from being the last.” He sighs. “Footballers and their issues.”

“Are we all this fucked?”

“Some more than others.” He taps his fingers on his desk, assessing me. “Are you sure you’re up for starting training?”

“Not really. But I came to the conclusion it was better than staring at my phone all day.” He raises his eyebrows, giving me a questioning look. “Break-up. Bad, very bad break-up. A shitty couple of weeks, remember?”

“It is sounding pretty shitty, yeah.”

“It was… it was for the best.” I look down at my hands, picking at the nail I was chewing on five minutes ago. “I’m not built for relationships. It felt like it was going well, but— but I don’t know. I knew I wouldn’t be able to make him happy.”

Why am I talking about this? I’ve just met this man and I’m spilling about my personal life. Something about him just makes me want to open up and—

_Did I just say ‘him’?_

My eyes widen and shoot up to his face. I definitely said ‘him’. He’s raising an eyebrow at me. Oh fucking fuck, have I fucked this up already?

“I mean—”

“Have you ever considered… talking to someone?” I blink at him. “A professional I mean?”

“About Per—” Oh, get a _grip._ “About my relationships?”

“No. Not just that. I just mean…” He motions vaguely to me. “You seem to have a lot of issues. With yourself.”

“Issues with myself?” I pick at my nail even more. It starts to bleed and I frown, putting it in my mouth. “Should I not have issues with myself?” I continue, my voice muffled around my finger. “I’m an arsehole.”

He takes a deep breath, then starts rooting through a pile of crap on his desk. Eventually he finds what he’s looking for and slides a business card over to me. I frown and pick it up. It’s a man’s name and a telephone number.

“A therapist. He’s spoken to a few of my lads in the past and he comes highly recommended.”

A _therapist_?

I stare at it, turning the card over in my fingers. I’ve never spoken to a therapist, but it’s far from the first time someone’s suggested it to me. Most recently was my sister. After what happened, we sat down together at my penthouse and I told her everything. About dad, about Duke, about my drinking and the pills. To her credit, and my great surprise, she didn’t roll her eyes even once.

We didn’t go so far as hugging, but it was the realest conversation I’d ever had with Felicity, and it ended with some promises. One of which was that I would start outpatient treatment for my addictions. Another was that I would consider seeing a therapist, to finally talk about my childhood and how it has, and this is a direct Felicity Montague quote, “royally fucked me up.”

Scipio handing me this card seems like an extra nudge. Perhaps it’s fate. I look up at him.

“I’ll call him. Thank you.”

“Thank me by taking my team to the top of the league.”

I scoff. “I’ll do my best.”

“You know your first game will be against Wratham United, don’t you?”

I’ve thought about nothing else. “You mentioned it, yep.”

“No pressure.”

“None at all.”

I give the card one last look, then slide it into my pocket.

  
  


\------------------------------

  
  


**PERCY**

After much convincing, and bribery, Sim manages to drag me out of the apartment for lunch. My appetite is still non-existent, but I think her diagnosis of me “going fucking stir crazy” is starting to become accurate, so a change of scenery can’t hurt. (Especially since Sim keeps stealing my phone to prevent me from constantly refreshing Monty’s Instagram page.)

We’re sat in a café near my apartment and I’m having a pain au raisin with my coffee. Well, I’m mainly picking at it and remembering the first day I met Monty, when he bought us an entire massive plate of them. In retrospect, looking back on that day, I was fucked from the moment he walked into that locker room and pulled off his sunglasses.

I flinch when something hits me in the face. 

I look up and see that Sim is holding up another marshmallow from her hot chocolate, getting ready to throw that too. 

“ _What?_ ”

“You’re ignoring me! I’ve been talking to you for five minutes and all you’ve done is stare at that fucking pastry.”

“Sorry! It’s— Monty once—“

“Uh uh!” She holds out her hand. “Pay up.”

I scowl and go into my pocket, pulling out my wallet and looking through it for another tenner. Sim made me get out two hundred quid’s worth and said she was going to start fining me every time I said Monty’s name. She’s been true to her word. I hand it to her and sit back in my seat with a sigh, putting my wallet away. 

“Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was just talking about Tinder being a barren wasteland.”

“Don’t shit talk my sponsors, Sim.”

“Well, they need to step it up! This dry spell is messing with my training.”

I smirk slightly, then frown as I spot someone over her shoulder, standing at the counter waiting for their takeaway coffee. 

“Shit.”

She gives me a look then immediately swivels her head around to follow my gaze. I kick her under the table and she turns back.

I hiss at her. “Don’t! It’s M—“ She raises her eyebrows at me. “It’s his sister. I don’t want to—“

“Percy?”

I look up and Felicity is walking over to our table, her cup of coffee in hand. I feign surprise and force a smile. 

“Felicity! Hello!” I stand up and lean in to give her an awkward kiss on the cheek. “How are you?”

“I’m okay.” She glances at Sim. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt—“

“No, it’s fine! This is my friend Sim. Sim, this is Felicity Montague.”

Sim tilts her head, giving Feli an appraising look. “You don’t look like him.”

Felicity frowns. “Thank you?” She looks back at me. “Listen, I’m glad I ran into you. I uhm…”

She hesitates, then drags over a chair from the empty table next to us, putting her coffee on the table before sitting down. I cautiously sit back down too, exchanging a look with Sim. 

Felicity clears her throat. “How are you, Percy?” 

This is unexpected. And from the look on her face, she’s as uncomfortable about this turn of events as I am. 

“I’m… fine.”

“He’s a mess,” Sim cuts in. “This is the first time I’ve gotten him out of the apartment in two weeks.”

“Thank you for filling her in.”

Felicity sighs, playing absent-mindedly with the lid of her coffee. “I’m sorry. That it all ended up like this.”

I hesitate. But I need to know. “How is he?”

I feel Sim kick my foot with hers under the table. I ignore her.

“He’s good!” I must turn pale, because she backtracks immediately. “No! I don’t mean that. Of course he’s not good. He’s a wreck. But… he’s trying.”

“Trying?”

“He’s getting treatment. For the drink and the…” She waves her hand vaguely. “Other things. And he has an appointment with a therapist next week.”

“He— really?”

She nods. I give myself a moment to take this in. He’s okay. He’s not spiralling somewhere. Not out every night getting wasted and fucking strangers or getting in trouble. He’s trying. That’s not nothing. 

“Good. That’s good.”

Felicity takes a deep breath. “But I just wanted to apologise. I can’t help but feel somewhat responsible for what happened.”

I frown. “Why would you be responsible for anything?”

“Because.” She sighs. “I don’t know. I practically begged him to talk to dad.”

“Your dad? What does…?”

“He—“ She sees the expression on my face and sinks slightly into her chair. “Oh. He never said.”

“Felicity, did something happen that night?”

“It’s not really my place to—“

“Please? If there’s more to it, I need to know.”

She bites her lip then huffs slightly. Sitting up straight again and sipping her coffee. 

“Dad had been trying to get hold of him since…” She glances at Sim. “He told me about the emails. Dad got one too.”

Fuck. “Oh.”

“Monty was avoiding his calls and eventually he started hassling _me_ so I convinced Monty to go see him and get it over with it. It didn’t… go well.”

“Was he upset?”

She scoffs at me slightly. Then looks apologetic. “Monty and my dad have a— no, I was going to say a difficult relationship but I’ve learned a lot more recently and I’m just going to say it. Dad abused Monty. Almost his entire life.”

My stomach churns. “Abused?”

“He beat him. When he was a child, really right through until he left home. I… never really knew the extent of it. Denial is a powerful thing.” She pushes her hair behind her ear. “Dad has never really approved of Monty’s…” She glances around us. “. _..preferences_ , either. So finding out about you was…”

“Felicity, did he hurt him? That night?”

“No. Not really. He tried. And he said some things. Awful things. He can really push Monty’s buttons. I think something just… snapped.”

“Fucking hell.” Sim lets out, and I look over at her. “Sorry. Just… ouch.”

I look back at Felicity. “I didn’t know he even went there. He didn’t tell me.”

“I know he’s not been entirely honest with you. But—”

“But what? He still loves me?” She stares down at the table. “Sorry. I just— thank you. For telling me. And for updating me.”

She looks up at me and gives me a small smile. “You’re welcome.”

I pause. “I’m glad he has someone.”

She nods and stands up, taking her coffee and walking out. We both watch her leave. 

“She’s hot.”

I look at Sim. “Are you kidding?”

“ _What_? She is! It’s an attractive family.”

“We need to get you laid. Immediately.”

She rolls her eyes and picks up her phone. I chew my lip, turning to look out of the window. I wonder what he’s doing right now. 

  
  


\------------------------------

**MONTY**

I've never struggled to take a good selfie in my life, but suddenly it seems completely impossible. My camera roll is full of aborted attempts to capture my new kit for Instagram (at Felicity’s request). I find one I think I might not hate, then zoom in on my face. I look tired and sad. Even my skin somehow looks miserable. I delete it. 

After a couple more shots, each one more depressing than the last, I give up. I throw my phone onto my bed so aggressively that it bounces off onto the floor. I roll my eyes and kneel down to find it, digging through the pile of clothes that has been slowly growing on my floor over the last couple of weeks.

I find it between two pairs of boxers and grab it, then before I stand back up, I spot a khaki coloured sweatshirt under a pair of jeans. Percy’s sweatshirt. I pick it up and before I can even think about it, I hold it to my face to breathe in the scent of him and my heart skips.

I straighten up, looking down at my new kit. It’s turquoise, and normally I would be into the colour (it brings out the shade of blue in my eyes) but currently the bright pastel colour makes me feel queasy. I toss my phone back onto the bed, gentler this time, then pull the sweatshirt on over my head.

It was oversized on Percy, and on me it’s basically a tent. But it’s warm, and soft, and it smells like him. I never want to take it off. I sit down on the bed, pulling it down over my knees, and pick up my phone again. I jump as the screen lights up with a call, blinking a few times as I register the name on the screen. I give myself a couple of seconds to make sure I’m not imagining things, then answer.

“Percy?”

_“Monty. Hi.”_

It’s actually him. My stomach twists. “Are you… how are you?”

 _“I’m—I’m fine. I just wanted to…”_ I hear him take a long breath, shuffling around like he’s trying to get comfortable. _“I saw your sister today.”_

“Oh. Right.” Neither of us speak for a few seconds. I don’t know what to say to that. “She okay?”

_“I didn’t really ask. She told me. About your dad.”_

Fuck. I close my eyes, lying back on the bed. “What about him?”

_“Monty… why did you never tell me?”_

I swallow. “It’s not exactly an attractive topic of conversation, is it? ‘Darling, my father used to beat the shit out of me and now I’m a grown man who can’t be in the same room as him without shaking like a leaf’. It’s pathe—”

He interrupts. _“It’s not pathetic. And not everything has to be attractive. Jesus Monty.”_ I hear a groan and I know he’s rubbing his face, exasperated. I’ve seen it many times. _“You should have talked to me. You’re my fri— We were friends.”_

We _were_ friends. We’re not even friends anymore. Because of me.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. There’s a lot I… a lot I don’t talk about. When I should.”

 _“If you’d told me before, then…”_ He trails off. I’m glad he does, because the end of that sentence might just kill me. _“Felicity said you were getting treatment. And therapy.”_

“Anything else she told you? An update on my bowel movements, maybe?”

He doesn’t laugh. I cringe.

 _“I just wanted to—”_ He clears his throat. _“I’m proud of you. For doing that. It must have been difficult.”_

I swallow hard. I can hear what he’s not saying — he didn’t expect me to get help. He assumed I’d be dead in a ditch with my trousers around my ankles within two days. That I’d spiral and make things even worse than they already were. And who could blame him? It was certainly the more appealing option at the time.

Instead, I called Feli. I asked for help. And now he’s proud of me. I don’t know what to do with this information. 

“Thank you.” My voice cracks and I screw my eyes shut. 

_“I think it’s for the best. That we’re— that we broke up. The timing wasn’t right for us.”_

There it is. Don’t get any ideas, Monty! I’m proud of you for not killing yourself but I would still rather stick rusty bolts under my fingernails than ever see you again. 

“Definitely. Yep.” I run my hand through my hair, tugging hard on a few strands in an attempt to distract myself and pull myself together. “I’m glad you called.”

 _“I’m glad you’re okay.”_ He sighs, then speaks again more quietly. _“It’s good to hear your voice.”_

I need to get off of this call. “Bye, Percy.”

I hang up, then drop the phone on the bed next to me. I’m crying again. I’ve never cried as much in my entire life as I have in the last few days. I feel drained, like someone’s ringing me out over the sink. 

My phone buzzes and I look down at it, wiping my face. 

**_Feli_ ** _: Monty. Instagram post. Don’t forget please._

I growl under my breath and sit up, yanking the sweatshirt over my head again and throwing it onto the bed in a screwed up ball.

Selfie. ‘I’ve got my shit together’ selfie. ‘I’m happy we broke up, I’m in a really great place’ selfie. I can do this. 

I turn on my camera and look at my face. My eyes are red, I can fix that with a filter. And if not, people will just assume I’m drunk. My hair is a mess, but that’s my thing, isn’t it? May as well live up to expectations. 

I wipe a stray tear from my cheek and grin at the camera, winking, then take a photo. 

I barely look at the result, throwing on a couple of decent filters, writing a quick caption about being excited for the game against my old buddies at Wratham United… and then I press post. 

The comments start pouring in immediately. I rarely read them. My notifications are turned off except for my closest friends, so I start when one pops up at the top of my screen. 

**_@percy_newton_ ** _see you then :-)_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! Comments and kudos supply me with much needed serotonin!!


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